Casket Wood
by Elleari
Summary: Sequel to 'Quartermaster' and part 2 of The Taker Series. Sherlock is back from the dead, Moran is on the lose, and Mycroft has news of a brewing terrorist plot. Life will out...but it won't be easy for Robin, who's recovering from a nasty encounter with a sniper. If only her health was better. Companion AU of 'The Empty Hearse'. OC.
1. Chapter 1

**The Taker - Part 2**

 **There Will be No Need for Casket Wood**

 **Chapter 1 - She's Not Dead**

…

In movies a trip to the hospital's emergency ward is normally described with blurry lights of red and blue, figures shifting about, the whining of sirens and, if you're lucky enough, some sort of whispers from a loved one that you'll probably forget by the time you wake up a day or two later. That was not the case for Robin Day Whittaker.

The ride to the hospital was, technically, loud and it did involve people shifting around her trying to keep her alive. She was, however, strapped down to a spinal board, with her head in a brace, due to the fact that a sniper rifle's bullet had hit the posterior right temporal lobe (around the mastoid process), fracturing it. Furthermore, it had all but scrapped the helix and upper scapha of her right ear's pinna, shattering it. That same bullet had continued on and had just missed puncturing her lungs, instead ripping apart a gash on her upper back and practically destroying her rhomboid muscles and injuring her trapezius muscle. It had, furthermore, nicked one of her spine's posterior processes. This, of course, was all later explained by the doctor on hand at the hospital first to whomever it may concern and eventually to Robin.

In the ambulance people were more concerned of the fact that she had a brain, and possibly a spinal, injury and the fact that she might bleed out since they couldn't move her to a prone position. It was all very hectic and, gladly, Robin was blissfully unaware of the chaos due to being soundly unconscious.

Once the ambulance arrived at the hospital, the trained professionals made quick work of getting Robin into surgery. The surgeon cursed at her low body mass, the odd trajectory the sniper bullet had taken, and the amount of blood she had lost but, all in all, there were no complications. The injuries were mainly superficial and hardly vital, save for the possible brain damage. There were no tragedies to be had that night.

…

She didn't quite feel like she was waking up, more as if she had been floating earlier and had decided to lay down on for a moment. Or perhaps maybe she was slowly drifting upwards from a dark river, each new elevation bringing her more light. The body floats upwards naturally, but at times she felt like currents were bringing her back down, not particularly harshly, but still. It took some time, but she started to feel again, past the cool oblivion on the deep dark. Sunlight on her eyelids, currents brushing through her fingers. It was all quite peaceful and Robin would later thank for the undisturbed unconsciousness, void of nightmares.

As she settled in, however, she noticed that the water had a thread-count, the sun was harsher and less warm than she remembered and that, no matter how much she tried to shift around, everything felt heavy and she just couldn't move. She was heavy again, but she didn't sink. It took another half an hour, she'd estimate, although in honesty a whole day had passed, for her to realize that she was in the hospital and that she was not, in fact, dead. Or drifting in a mass of water. It took another while for her to open her eyes a crack.

She was glad that the sedatives were keeping her not only painless but also calm enough to not have a panic attack after remembering what had happened. She was gratified further to realize that she may not have any memory loss. Well…hopefully, she'd still have to wait for a bit to confirm the short-term memory loss. Maybe she just didn't remember what she had forgotten.

Her eyes now cracking open a bit wider, she immediately let out a groan as the lights came flooding in and caused a burning flash of pain throughout her skull, painkillers be damned. That was no kind sunlight, the light came from the harsh fluorescence expected at a hospital.

Squeezing her eyes closed, she tried again, but slower, and this time the pain wasn't so bad. Again, however, she had to close her eyes after a few seconds. It took over a minute for her eyes to adjust and let her open her eyes far enough to perceive anything worthwhile. Her vision was blurry and she didn't know if that was due to the lack of her glasses or from the brain injury, or from sleeping…for however long she had slept. It took another moment to feel about and get her surroundings in check. She confirmed that yes, she was in a hospital bed and that she was bandaged from her chest upwards. Her neck was also in a light-weight foam neck brace and she could feel bandages wrapped around her forehead.

'Qu'est ce qu'il s'est passé? I-I must look horrendous…I feel horrendous. Was my head shaved? I wonder what happened after…that?' she thought, resting again but maintaining consciousness. She now felt a deep pit of worry grow as she tried to remember any detail after she was shot. Was everyone okay? Did they get the sniper? Where was Sherlock…was he okay?

She gave herself a rest and slipped off into a light sleep.

When she next woke, which couldn't have been much later, she suspected, she felt a bit better. She was still quite fuzzy, but she now felt less heavy. The medication was allowing her to avoid the pain, but she still felt odd…stuffy. She was tired and she wasn't particularly able to move around much. Oh…and the catheter. She hated that thing. It meant that she had been out long enough to need to manage…such things. By now she had enough self-awareness to know she was hooked up to an IV, or two, along with the damnable catheter. Her upper body was bandaged, but not unbearably so, and she was pretty sure she had stitches on her back and possibly skull.

She had just enough strength to reach with her good hand, her left and check her bandages. She notices her IVs and the heart monitor beeping in the back. She checked her brace and winced when she felt her head wrapped up. Her left ear was completely wrapped and, horrifyingly enough, she couldn't hear from it. Her breath caught, but the medicine kept her sedated enough to know that no matter what, she didn't know if any of her conclusions were permanent at the moment.

Again, she rested, oblivious to the world past her small hospital bed.

Next, she checked her legs and lower half. Robin was glad to find that she could wiggle that part of her body with relative ease. They were stiff and sore, and the catheter was bothering her, but that was all. Although her right arm was more or less useless, she knew at least that three of her four limbs were working relatively well. She couldn't quite move her left arm, however, as even though its muscles were intact the pain from the wound on her back was too much and she could only move it just enough to check herself.

Robin sighed after a while. She figured that she'd have to open her eyes fully soon, at the very least so that she could find a nurse. Her throat was parched and she could barely utter a noise. She hoped that at least she'd be close enough to water to reach it. Robin, being a solitary person, didn't think anyone would be waiting for her, let alone ready to give her some water or alert the doctor of her full wakefulness. She figured that the nurses had by now at least figured out that she was conscious, if not barely, or they would be around soon enough to help her out.

"Merde!" she gasped, opening her eyes fully, which just caused her to hurt more. She had taken it slow, but it was still painful. Again she wondered if it was due to the brain injury.

Finally opening her eyes, she first saw the lackluster white ceiling of the hospital. Next, she slowly looked over to her left, glad to find a table and a glass of water next to her bed. At least the nurses had thought to put the water where she could reach with her good hand. She tried, but it was just out of reach. Robin hissed painfully when she tried again and she felt her back stretch. She sucked in a breath slowly and forced herself to stay calm and not cry. No one would be around, but she felt like crap. Her eyes tearing up from the effort and the frustration, she wished for once to not be alone and for someone's help.

In the next second, however, her wishes were answered when a hand reached for the glass instead and gently, oh so gently, helped her sit up a bit to take a sip. Robin, completely blindsided by this development, did not even think to see who's hand it was. She, however, drank the water gladly, if not sorely, and finally felt cool relief. She drank slowly, limited by the hand's control, with little gulps so she did not accidentally choke.

Looking up, she was further surprised to see the owner of the hand. It was Sherlock! He was alright! 'Oh, mon dieux, quelle paix!' she thought as a wide grin suddenly graced her sore face. Even that motion was awkward, but she couldn't help it. Robin began to tear up, this time not from the lighting, but from relief and thankfulness.

"You're alright," she croaked out after a moment, just staring at the detective. She was too tired and drugged to care what anyone thought. She knew that at that moment she didn't care. He was safe, damn him, but he was safe. He'd wiggled himself inside her defenses and then had scared her half to death. But at the moment her need to hug him outweighed her need to slap him. Sadly, she could do neither.

The consulting detective had just faced death, and yet he seemed no different. He did sport a bruise, however, on his left cheek, but nothing apart from that was visible to Robin. She drank in the sight of him and was glad.

"Look around, Robin," advised Sherlock, who seemed unfazed of her odd reaction. He was keeping close to the bed, his hand brushing her limp one as it rested at her side. She liked the contact. He was, however, frowning a bit more than normal and Robin couldn't quite figure out why.

She followed his directive and felt surprisingly stupid. How had she not noticed the flowers and cards? Sure, there weren't many but even still, she should have at least noticed. They weren't hidden. What further surprised her was that John and Lestrade were in the room. How did she not notice them? Lestrade looked the same, if not a bit tired, but he smiled at her gently. John looked practically haggard and, although the smile kept fighting for dominance, Robin had to furrow her brows a bit in worry. Had he worried about her? She had missed her friend.

"Everyone's safe?" she asked after a moment.

"Yes, everyone's fine. You were the only one seriously injured," responded Lestrade, a bit tentative with the subject. Robin, however, huffed out a breath of relief.

"Why didn't I notice you all?" she asked, more to herself than anything. John's brow furrowed with worry.

"Are you experiencing any black circles, spots missing in your vision?" he asked, his tone worried but at the very least he was staying practical.

"No…no…I just didn't notice. I should have noticed," replied Robin, airily. She did not want to worry John anymore.

"You were waking up, and are medicated, it's normal," reassured John, realizing that there wasn't anything seriously wrong. They lapsed into a brief silence, Robin blinking a few times again and resting before she shifted as best she could and asked her next question.

"And…and the sniper?"

"Gone, Graham-"

"Greg"

"Greg shot her and incapacitated her before she could do anything else. She's now in police custody and I'd suspect soon to be in Mycroft's care," replied Sherlock, in a business-like tone. He was as mechanical as he usually was, but maybe a bit more tense than the situation required. If the sniper was gone, then they at least had bought some time. It was a small victory. Sherlock did sound more satisfied than normal, however, even though the frown still hadn't left his face.

Robin let herself digest the facts before nodding. She could get filled in on the rest later.

"Where are we?"

"At . Originally you were on your way to another hospital but Sherlock insisted that you come here. Mycroft seemed to agree…for once. They both insisted," replied John this time.

"John," she started, to which John immediately perked up. "Don't t-tell me you've been here all along? You look almost as horrible as…as I do."

To John's credit, he did flush a bit, but he kept a relatively 'doctor-like' face on him.

"Well…Mary did make me leave for a while but…but…What was I supposed to do, leave you alone for almost two weeks? We didn't know when you'd wake and…and well…you're my friend," he explain, which again practically brought Robin to tears.

"I-…wait…I was out for two week! C'est impossible! I-" stuttered out Robin, shocked once the news sunk in. She didn't really have the energy to move, but she felt like running suddenly, bolting far away from the situation.

"Almost two weeks. Not impossible. You did seem to come around a few times, but you weren't aware of your surroundings. You were, as far as the doctor's know, complete unconscious for the first week, however. You were in a coma. I'd suspect it had something to do with your fractured skull and your already overtaxed body. When you awoke, you were completely unaware of your surroundings and didn't notice whoever was in the room at the time…which I must say was vexing at times," supplied Sherlock, getting straight down to business. Robin blinked at him incredulously. Almost two week?

Before she could further comment, however, she was interrupted by the doctor walking in. She vaguely heard him introduce himself, but she didn't really care much. She also couldn't quite hear anything as the doctor had gone over to her bad ear's side half-way through his examination. It seemed the doctor was recounting her health not only for her but also for the other occupants of the room and soon after he was done, Lestrade took his leave. The DI gave Robin a quick nod and promised to see her soon before leaving. She returned the farewell and wished him well.

In the end, it turned out that she would be stuck for another week on bed rest and another three months at least would pass before she made anything resembling a complete recovery. The skull fracture wasn't severe, thankfully, but had to be monitored. She had lapsed into a coma, and so there was a chance that damage had been done. Her ear's upper cartilage had been shattered and she was now basically left with a mangled ear, along with hopefully temporary hearing loss. They had tried to clean up her ear as best they could, but the doctor noted that although the shape was still intact, she was missing quite a bit of it. The worst injury was by far her upper right shoulder and back, mostly due to the odd angle she had flung herself at Sherlock with, the very moment when the sniper had fired. That's where the bullet had made the most contact. The bullet and the fall afterwards had cracked one of her ribs, bruising another, which were weaker than normal due to her nutrition. She'd be spending some time on her stomach, it seemed. Her back had been glued together as the nurses could not leave her on her stomach constantly. Gladly those wounds were clean, so the glue would dissolve soon enough. Her head injury, however, was stitched and apparently before she left they would be taken out.

Physiotherapy, she just knew, would be killer. Apart from the long list of injuries, and apparently a nicked spinal bone, she wasn't too bad off, thankfully. It was all about perspective. And most importantly, everyone else was fine.

What surprised, and ashamed, the young hacker, however, was when the doctor mentioned her malnutrition and the state her body had been even before the sniper's attack. She had been exhausted and underweight, making the blood loss and overall injuries a lot more dangerous.

Robin didn't look at anyone as the doctor explained that with intravenous supplies her body had recovered a bit, but she'd be on a strict diet before, and after, she was let out of the hospital.

Robin nodded her consent.

Robin listened with half an ear, or, well, with one of two ears. She occasionally looked to John for help and her kind friend would explain everything else that the doctor didn't quite manage to explain to the disoriented and injured hacker. Robin occasionally glanced at Sherlock, but he simply sat silently by her side, distant but with hands familiarly steepled, which was reassuring enough. It was nice to know that she had found such good friends. It was a relief to no longer wake alone in a hospital bed. She never had to face recovery alone again, she supposed, as she had protected her friends and they were safe. John had apparently stayed with her throughout the majority of the almost-two week, although Sherlock, Lestrade, Mrs Hudson and Mr Forester had visited often enough.

Of course, Sherlock gave his excuses and immediately made it clear that he only came out of obligation, as she had saved his life, and for the fact that he was apparently recording her recovery for future reference. Robin couldn't tell if there was more to the story and her tired body simply didn't let her think about it too much.

By the end of it, Robin was once again exhausted and begged to be left in peace for a bit of rest. The doctor left and she was able to persuade John to go home for a day or two, at least. She didn't think she needed to really say anything to Sherlock, so she simply nodded off.

Robin could have sworn that someone had kissed her forehead, however, right before she lost all knowledge of what was around her.

…

Still in her bed, Robin watched out the window of her hospital room. When she had been shot, the weather had been crisp and cool, but warming. Spring had been well on its way and she had just begun to notice the budding plants. At the time, she had been in such a rush, working on one thing and the next, that she hadn't paid much attention to the changing season. Now, almost three weeks later, she was faced with green trees and flowers in full bloom. Spring was on its way out, the season tending to be short in England and the climate cooler. She had missed spring, her favorite season. It wasn't really a big deal, but she realized that she had to slow down. Soon enough the spring showers, which Robin had missed the majority of, would make way for the normally mild but stuffy summers, and then eventually into fall once again.

Robin began to realize just how much things had changed.

…

"I need you to give this matter your full attention, Sherlock. Is that quite clear?" Mycroft scrutinized, glaring at his brother. The two kin were in Mycroft's office, which honestly looked more like a very poshly decorated bunker than an office one would suspect a government official to have. Then again, when you were the government, you could take some liberties. It had modern shelves and a minimalist decor, and the walls were a dark, somber color.

Sherlock, who had been up until that point busying himself with his phone, turned slightly and glanced at his brother.

"You know, I think John might be proposing to Mary tonight," the detective commented, in a rather blasé tone. Of course, he had known that John had prepared today to be the day that he proposes to his lovely girlfriend for some time. He would love to be in the restaurant when it happened, being a 'supportive' friend and all, but he had been rudely whisked away by Mycroft. Still, there was time before the dinner. He had a suspicion that Robin had something to do with the abduction. Even when in the hospital, the hacker seemed to have quite a few resources.

Then again, maybe John had pulled in a favor from Mycroft.

Rude.

"Sherlock!" snapped Mycroft, exasperated.

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock glared right back at his dear brother. "I will find your underground terror cell, Mycroft," he conceited. "Just get me back in the public. I'm tired of hiding and with the threat of Moran gone…for now…I'd rather like my official status to once again be 'alive.'"

Mycroft nodded, already ahead of the detective. They had planned this for a while now. All he would have to do is hit start and watch as the dominos fell.

Anthea, who had up until this point stayed out of the way of the two brothers, silently watching diligently from the corner of the room, finally spoke up.

"One of our men died getting this information. All the chatter, all the traffic, concurs there's going to be a terror strike on London – a big one," she relayed succinctly, handing the detective a case file, getting a tiny nod from Mycroft while Sherlock blatantly ignored everyone. Sure, they knew that there would be a terrorist attack, but had the operative actually gotten any useful information before he died, like…oh, who, where, when, or how?

"What about Robin?" he asked suddenly, checking his phone for any news.

Mycroft cocked his head a bit at hearing the hacker's name, furrowing his brow.

"What about her?"

"Don't play coy, brother, I know you were in to visit her on the…oh…third day? Thankfully she was still unconscious so she didn't have to endure your visit for long. Still, I know you're waiting for her to be healthy enough to be back in action. This is, after all, just her sort of thing," deduced Sherlock, now facing his brother with a smirk on his face. Robin was, after all, one of Mycroft's more useful assets. She was also, probably one of the very, very, few people Mycroft didn't admit to caring about, but probably did in his own way. The elder Holmes had known her for some time and knew more about her than anyone else, to Sherlock's frustration.

Again, Mycroft glared at his brother.

"Nothing can be done about it now. She'll need some time to recover." He almost, almost, sounded slightly dejected.

"Oh, I think she'll be helpful enough. She might be stuck in bed, but she'll be out of the hospital in a day or two. The weather is improving, her week of hospital bedrest is almost up and, knowing her, she'll be starving for some work."

"Knowing her? Dear brother, do you know her, really?" asked Mycroft, knowing full well what a loaded question that was. Sherlock's complexion immediately darkened, even past his normal glare. It had been a concern for some time for the detective. Firstly, the woman was unreadable. Secondly, she had proven to be a good friend and ally, even if she rarely talked of her past. Finally, even though he didn't know much about the woman, he still trusted her and now she had gone off and saved his life without a bother for her own. For goodness sakes, she had been ready to die to save him. Even the heartless detective had to admit that those actions meant something. Yes, he figured she would have done the same for John, but for him? Why? Why did she protect him and what was he going to do with her answer? What did it mean to him?

"Enough," he snapped back. "She will help me gather the information needed to find this terrorist cell. You must admit that it is the most logical course of action. I will get John to help, of course, once he's done playing 'lovey-dovey' with Mary."

Mycroft sighed. "Fine, brother. Your status will be changed by tomorrow."

Anthea, noticing that she was no longer needed, excused herself. "Welcome back, Mr Holmes"

Sherlock nodded to the retreating woman and glanced back at his brother. Smirking, he prepared to leave as well.

"…blud," he bit out sarcastically before sweeping out of the gray office.

…

 **Disclaimer** : The characters and plot of Sherlock BBC are the property of BBC, Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat. Characters, plot and any other original idea belongs to me.

 **Translations:** 'Qu'est ce qu'il s'est passé? : What happened?

 **Author's Note: _Did you miss me?_**

Hello everyone! It's been a while, hasn't it? I blame school. I've graduated High School and now am off to university to study Health Sciences. So excite.

But, enough about me, onto the story! So yes, the following three stories will follow season 3's episodes, at the very least loosely. I haven't changed too much, apart from Robin's contributions. The timeline is stretched out, however, to fit everything in chronologically. It was spring went we last left Robin...grazed and bashed up by a sniper.

The only other thing I want to say about the story is that...well...Robin's character is developing a lot now. You will see.

And, to whomever actually stuck around and waited for me, THANK YOU! I've read all of the reviews from the last story and I enjoyed laughing maniacally. Oh, and btw, I'm traveling but I've finished this whole story so the upload interval should be 1-2 per week...maybe more. There won't be much of a wait. Promise?

OH! AND, with the title of the story, it relates to funeral caskets. I thought for a while about naming it 'Coffin Wood', but the thing is...I work at a funeral home and we are trying to get rid of the misnomer 'coffin'. A coffin is wide at the shoulders and narrower at the feet. A casket is a rectangular box.

Cheers,

Elleari


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 - The Alarm is Raised**

…

Robin once again woke to a bland white ceiling. It was dim in the room, and Robin's eyes hurt less when she opened them. She was stiff but didn't feel as groggy anymore. Looking about the room, she admired the few flowers she had received silently, a small smile gracing her face. Although it had been a week since she had been in the hospital and some of the bouquets were wilting, she still greatly cherished those flowers. Hopefully, she'd be able to bring them home tomorrow.

Robin's brow furrowed. 'Tomorrow…I'll be going back home tomorrow,' she thought. The hacker knew that she still had a long road to recovery, but at least she was stable and relatively self-sufficient. She still couldn't quite hear out of her right ear, although that was slowly getting better. It would probably never be the same, but at least she hadn't lost her hearing completely in the ear. Her back was still sore, but she spent quite some time each day on her side, laying delicately so that her wound could heal naturally. Her head, too, was feeling better and now stitch free, although she still experienced headaches much too often. Overall, she just wanted to get home. It would be harder to take care of herself there, sure, but she didn't want to spend more time here.

What had she already missed, she thought? It had been a week and she had already missed John's attempt at proposing to Mary, although he had come in with his girlfriend yesterday and had explained how it went. It was lovely, of course, and quite a usual evening, which suited the pair perfectly after all the chaos surrounding Moran. That is until Sherlock had arrived. Robin huffed. Her plan had been to distract the detective long enough for John to propose, thanks to Mycroft, but apparently the brother's meeting had been shorter than they all had hoped. Sherlock had barged in on the proposal, spouting something about being officially alive again, and the evening had been ruined in the whirlwind that had ensued.

Not only had she missed congratulating her best friend, she'd missed Sherlock's re-emergence into society. She had been hoping to be at her computer, monitoring the news and enjoying the look on people's faces. Instead, she had been stuck to watching a short mention of it on the telly before a nurse shut it off. She apparently wasn't supposed to be exposing herself to too many stimuli, due to the head injury, and she had already browsed her computer that day. Sadly, it had been her normal laptop, too, so she couldn't do much concerning her work. She sighed, closing her eyes and pinching her brow.

Looking to her left, she was once again surprised to find Sherlock in the chair next to her bed. He seemed engrossed in thought. Why hadn't she noticed him right away?

Surely he hadn't come here to look after her? The detective didn't do that, simply didn't. Why was he here then? Was he angry that she'd arranged for him to be 'distracted' with Mycroft while John proposed? It wasn't like it had worked anyway.

She hadn't seen the detective since the first day she had truly been conscious when he had visited with Lestrade and John, which had been a very fortuitous coincidence. Honestly, him visiting in the evening, probably past visiting hours, was quite ominous. It tugged at her gut, and she didn't know whether it was a good feeling or one born from trepidation at the possibility of bad news.

"S-so…comment ça va?" she stuttered out, hoping to bring Sherlock out of his thoughts before she became too anxious. Gladly, it worked. He seemed to react immediately, straightening up and turning towards her. Getting a better angle, Robin briefly noted that Sherlock was looking like he normally did, and the little bruise that he had had was gone. His expression was slightly peeved, as per usual, but he looked…cold.

"You're awake, good. I've picked up a terrorist case for Mycroft and you'll be helping with reconnaissance," he stated bluntly, getting right down to business. This didn't phase Robin anymore, however, and she much preferred it to any of the other more touchy subjects they were both avoiding.

"Alright," she agreed, silently cheering at getting some work once she got out of the god-forsaken hospital.

"Lestrade has also been informed about the attack…apparently the terrorist alert level has been raised. With Moran gone, for now, it's prudent we keep all other possible threats at bay until we find him."

"Of course," nodded Robin, simply enjoying herself as she watched Sherlock rant.

"Hopefully John will be able to pull himself away from Mary for a while, as well. He's still cross that I interrupted his little plan. I'm sure Mary will see reason and persuade him to come along. I don't expect we'll be able to do much to begin with, as it normally goes with secretive organizations, but at least this will be something to do."

"How was the proposal going, you know, before you interrupted it," asked Robin, switching subjects suddenly and referring to John and Mary.

"It was a traditional proposal, fancy restaurant, and all. Nothing really interesting to note…not that I'd be able to give you any specific details," grumbled Sherlock, giving Robin a pointed look. Robin laughed a bit, winced, and give him a lopsided smile.

"Since you interrupted it," supplied Robin, causing Sherlock to groan.

"Oh, don't you start too!"

"I don't think John wanted it to be such a…a public proposal."

Sighing, Sherlock closed his eyes again and sank into his chair, folding his legs and once again steepling his hands. A few moments passed where they both were too absorbed with their thoughts to speak. It had happened quite a bit at Robin's flat, where the two would be discussing something, or even just be in each other's general vicinity, and they'd lapse into this amiable silence that could last for hours.

After some time, Sherlock finally decided upon something and straightened, unfolding his legs and leaning in. He had a very serious look upon his face, his light eyes catching the evening light and setting them ablaze. Robin, giving him her full attention, was enraptured.

"And you will only be doing reconnaissance. I'll be working with John on anything in the field. You are needed only for research, understood?" ground out Sherlock suddenly, words flying out of his mouth as he leaped out of his chair to stand menacingly over Robin's bed.

Recoiling, Robin winced. She had hoped they'd be able to skirt around the subject. She had thought, knowing Sherlock, that he'd completely ignore the fact that she'd saved his life and they'd both be able to move on as amiable friends. That had suited her just fine. Well…she still had to deal with her growing feelings for the detective but she was fine with them being friends. Sure, she'd saved his life but John had probably too a thousand times, and it wasn't such a monumental thing in his line of work. And even if she hadn't lived, sure John and Mr Forester would have mourned but they would have moved on like everyone else and it wouldn't have been such a big thing.

But no, Sherlock had to go and not be himself for once and be…what? Concerned? Robin guessed that's what friends did for one another, but Sherlock wasn't supposed to be like that. He didn't show outward concern…normally.

"I-…Alright. I promise to…to only research unless asked o-otherwise," responded Robin finally, her eyes wide and staring up at the detective. She internally cursed at how broken her speech was, betraying just how she was reacting and how she felt. Breathing in a deep breath, which hurt her back, she decided to take as much control as she could of the situation, at least for as long as she could.

"Sherlock…what happened?" she asked.

The detective seemed to back down, backing away slightly from the bed, but he looked almost pained.

"I-I mean, what happened after I was…I was shot?" Even after a week conscious in the hospital, no one had explained to her exactly what had occurred. She hadn't asked, of course, but still.

Again, Sherlock looked pained. His constitution, the pillar of stubborn dignity that he seemed to always carry around, crumbled a bit. Was he guilty? Something was bothering the man and Robin wished she had his ability to deduce just what it was. He turned away slightly and didn't look at her, concentrating on recalling the events. It didn't take long for him to compose the story though he didn't turn to face her.

"After you were shot, John shot the sniper, although he missed. He did buy enough time, however, for Lestrade to burst in and shoot the sniper in the knee before she was able to get away. I suspect they both had wished for a better shot, but it was dark and hectic so I won't blame them. The rest of his team apprehended the sniper before she escaped, the building was secured and an ambulance was called. The sniper is now in Mycroft's custody after being held by the Yard for a few days. Hopefully, she'll have some information on Moran. Although I doubt it. I deduced that she was a gun-for-hire instead of an operative," explained Sherlock in his normally brisk manner. Robin nodded, in thought.

"But…what happened to you? Was John alright?" she asked, realizing that he'd omitted quite a bit of detail from the story.

"John was unhurt and rode with you in the ambulance to the hospital since he is a veteran doctor and all."

"And…you?"

Sherlock looked flummoxed. Again, his face twisted.

"Of course, you fell on me when the sniper shot so I was taken down with you. It was with quite some maneuvering that…that I was…able to brace you. Apart from that...and I suppose a few bruises, I am fine," finished Sherlock lamely. He had been caught off guard with how direct Robin was being. Sure, he had been the one to broach the subject but it was still quite annoying. The normally timid woman he was used to was adamant about getting answers. Her curiosity and kind nature, both normally curbed, had apparently taken over for the evening.

"I contacted Mycroft as soon as I could. I filled him in on the details and it seemed that we agreed, for once, that it would be best that you recovered in a more familiar hospital." Sherlock seemed, at least for a moment, pleased at himself and also a bit sick at the idea of agreeing with Mycroft, which, in all honesty, was getting to become more of a jest than anything else. Or maybe it was just habit.

Robin nodded, casting her gaze down. Right, everything turned out well then. Everyone's safe.

"The question is, however," started Sherlock, startling Robin. His voice was a bit wary, and he had this constipated glare of his face, "why was it even necessary? Why did John have to call an ambulance for his friend? Why did I have to hold on to someone bleeding out in front of my eyes?" asked the detective coldly.

Robin couldn't meet his eyes. Her mind was buzzing with things that she should say, but her nerves got the better of her. Instead, she became irrationally angry at the detective in front of her.

"Because you were an idiot!" she bit out, not looking up. That seemed to startle the detective as much as it startled her.

"I was completely in control of the situation," he snapped back.

"No, you weren't! You would have gone in alone, unaware, into a room that clearly had to have a sniper in it ready for you! You might have known but are you so bloody full of yourself that you thought you could out-time a ready sniper?"

"Well it wasn't your responsibility to sacrifice yourself for me!" yelled back Sherlock, getting to the root of the problem now. Robin stared at him with wide eyes, disbelieving. 'No, I guess he doesn't get it after all,' she thought.

"You fool," she muttered silently, head lowered again and feeling exhausted. Sherlock was Sherlock, she supposed.

"Of course it's my responsibility to protect you, just as it is with John's. We protect you, Sherlock, that's what the people who care about you do." Robin couldn't quite get the word 'friend' to leave her tongue, so she went with the next best thing.

"You may not care, and I know we haven't known one another very long, but you are an f-friend to me. I would rather die than lose a friend. I'd rather die than let John go through losing you again. You id-" she was cut off by a hand on her face, covering her mouth. Springing from his spot near the foot of Robin's bed, he had shut her up quite efficiently with his hand. He was face to face with her, eyes blazing angrily. Robin had moved back habitually so that to balance himself the detective had to place his other arm around Robin on the other side of the bed. Robin winced, hitting her back as she scooted to the back of her bed. They stared at each other, Sherlock angry and Robin defiant, if not tired.

"You are not disposable, understood?" ground out Sherlock, the pained look coming over his face again, more prominent now. His face reflected a sort of agony in every fine line. His eyes were blazing, but they did not hate her, they calmed but gladly did not revert back to their icy gaze. He didn't remove his hand however, and Robin glared back at him. "You are neither trained nor experienced in these types of things, so you will no longer attempt such a stupid thing again."

This time, Robin was the one to act. She reached up with her good arm and pulled off the hand from her face. Sherlock, however, didn't back down and kept staring right at her, both arms now balancing him around her frame.

"If you had just followed Lestrade's instruction, I could have had time to inform you all of what was happening!"

"You still should not have run in! You can't have known that you could have saved me! It was completely illogical!"

"Don't presume you know what I can and cannot do, Sherlock!"

"Then tell me! You hide everything about you so much so it takes a trip to the hospital's emergency ward for everyone to find out that you have NO next of kin…at all!" yelled Sherlock, who was just as flustered as Robin at this point. The news of her medical records, however, made Robin's blood run cold. She sucked in a breath, choked, and squeezed her eyes shut. 'Merde.' Sherlock had trapped her and there was no escape. He did, however, realize just how much he had pushed Robin. He was almost ready to continue pushing, but a voice, which sounded suspiciously like John's, reminded of how frail her mind could be.

"H-how?" she whispered.

Sherlock, finally calming himself, shook himself mentally. Propping himself up on the edge of Robin's bed hesitantly, he let his arms leave her sides as he backed off a bit. Back straight, he observed the woman in front of him.

"On the way to the hospital John realized that without some sort of record, you could not be admitted. I contacted Mycroft, remembered that you had mentioned he knew more of your history than others and asked to see if he at least had some information. John was quite shocked to find out that you no longer had any next of kin."

"No…I-I-" stuttered Robin, trying to deny it.

"Robin, don't lie. We knew you were isolated, but you seem to literally have no living relations…at all. You have no family, no history of them…nothing. John is already in a tiff about it and I must admit that I did not see it coming. Much of your behaviour, in hindsight, makes more sense now. Along with many of my deductions. No wonder you have no heirlooms in your house," commented Sherlock, who looked thoughtful. "I had deduced it was due to some sort of estrangement, you are a ghost after all, but it seems that is not so."

"I know you are tired and John will have my head if I disturb you anymore, but let me ask you one question."

Robin couldn't breathe very well, she found. It was hard to look at the man in front of her, and she could feel tears pricking her eyes. She was scolding and berating herself for letting this happen. She was shaking and she felt like throwing up. She had also become very sad. The sorrow and anxiety rolled off of her in waves, and she didn't immediately register Sherlock taking her hand. After a moment or two, however, she began to notice his large, warm hand enveloping his.

Feeling his touch, Robin couldn't bring herself to flinch or hate him for it. She felt him begin to rub small circles on her palm, calming her further. She looked up and into his eyes but only found softness, and she couldn't think of why he would want to suddenly comfort her. He didn't seem to notice he was doing it either.

Maybe it was time to tell him something. She wished she could have eased into it, or given him something smaller, but she couldn't help it now.

"J-just one question, please Sherlock. I'm tired," she mumbled, bowing her head. Sherlock's back stiffened, not really expecting her to agree. His shoulders straightened, and his curious energy once again returned to him.

"Where is your family?" he asked, plain and simple.

"T-they aren't anywhere Sherlock. I s-suppose they used to be somewhere, and I guess there once was a lot of them, but all of my immediate family and most of my distant family is dead."

"How?"

"Doesn't matter, they are all dead, Sherlock," Robin stated with such finality.

She didn't mention that although she might have some relative or family branch left, she could not and would not contact them. She felt a tear or two slip down her cheek. She was normally better at controlling her sadness, but it seemed it had been a while and she was just too tired to fight the emotions. The pit of her stomach ached as if it was a chasm, deep and dark.

"I'm all alone."

She didn't see Sherlock's eyes soften and then once again flash with a deep pain. Even he had to feel something for her when she answered like that. He was a cold genius, but he had recently admitted he was no robot. He was strong, but she needed him to be soft, too. She needed something from him now that he had never needed to give before.

Just a touch.

Robin didn't notice Sherlock's hands snaking around her wrists, once again bracing himself around her. She didn't notice how he once again faced her directly, although this time his expression wasn't readable and her head was bowed. The hacker didn't notice how he took her pulse cautiously. She did notice, however, when in the spur of some whim Sherlock's lips pressed gently to her cheek as he brought his head down to catch hers.

Her breath hitched, her eyes were wide and confused, but she doesn't push him away. On his part, it was quite a chase peck, quickly moving on. Although the peck on the cheek was swift, barely there, Robin soon felt Sherlock arms around her, embracing her. Sherlock had propped himself up, now fully sitting on the bed, and had laced his arms around the frail hacker, careful of her back. His fingers found the folds of her hospital gown and the strands of her messy hair. He held onto her lightly but buried his head in the crook of her neck, closing his eyes.

She thought of how inexperienced the two of them were, but how that was fine. She let herself sink into his embrace, just for a moment. She had not been hugged like this in…so long. She let herself fit into the crook of his neck, mirroring his own actions. He smelt fresh but slightly metallic. Had he recently been in a lab? What had he been doing? What was he doing now?

Sherlock's breathing was steady, which calmed her down as well. She needed the calm and she suspected that Sherlock, deep down, needed to make sure she would be fine.

Soon enough, however, he remembered himself. Robin was once again caught unawares as he pulls back suddenly. She had calmed soon after she realized what was going on, but she had gotten too comfortable and as Sherlock retreated quickly she slumped forwards before she could catch herself, causing her to groan lightly.

They stared at each other for a second, not knowing what to do. Both of them were breathing heavily now and Robin could bet that both their hearts were racing. 'MERDE! What am I supposed to do now! Why did you do that!' she cursed in her head. They were both frozen but finally Robin decided to calm down, forcefully dragging in deep breaths. Sherlock could figure out what this meant to him on his own time since she was pretty sure she already knew how she felt about the detective. She was okay with waiting for an answer, but she was tired and needed to sleep.

"Goodnight, Sherlock," she dismissed quietly, still timid. Her comment worked, however, as Sherlock finally snapped out of it, sat up, and nodded stiffly. He seemed to be back to his regular self, but Robin saw that he was awfully rigid.

"Goodnight," he replied before grabbing his coat and leaving her hospital room in a great whirl of motion.

After he left, Robin let out a breath she had been holding and slumped carefully back down. Exhausted, she couldn't wait to leave the hospital.

…

 **Author's Note:** Hey! I'm in an airport! The wifi's nice here.

So, I this chapter did a lot of things. What do you guys think? Reviews, comments, etc. are greatly appreciated. Also, thank you to Mynean Rebel and bored411 for the first reviews!

(I edited this. Thank you to Mynean Rebel for the advice. Hopefully this is better.)

Cheers,

Elleari


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 - Forehead**

…

The next day, at noon, Robin was let out of the hospital with very strict and precise orders. She suspected, honestly, that she should have stayed longer but knowing John was a doctor and that she had someone to look after her at home placated the doctors at St. Bards well enough. It might have also been due to the fact that she had texted Mycroft on the second day of her consciousness and almost begged him to pull some strings to get her out of there, and had been doing so ever since.

She had also given the elder Holmes a beating for giving the hospital her _real_ information, knowing full well that it was supposed to stay hidden in case someone was able to link her medical history with any other records still floating about, especially paper records.

Then she scolded him further on him not just taking her to one of his own safe houses for medical attention.

Mycroft had been a good sport about it all, really. Although he did receive pictures of delectable cakes for the next three days in his private inbox, taunting him as Robin knew he was still trying to keep a diet. In the end, Robin hadn't the energy to chide the elder Holmes more.

The morning after Sherlock impromptu visit and what had subsequently occurred, Robin had awoken, still mystified. She had spent the morning thinking about what had happened and came to two conclusions. Firstly, the hug and peck on the cheek were intimate, but were by no means solely sexual in nature and so Robin wouldn't read it that way. Kissing was normally an obvious sign, but a hug…an embrace from another person was comforting. They were friends, perhaps close friends now, and would remain so until specified. The peck on the cheek could be easily read as one among good friends, and it was a part of the culture to greet as such as well. She appreciated it all, and had needed it at the time, and honestly she could barely believe it.

Secondly, Robin finally realized why Sherlock had been so bothered…probably. Three years ago, he had witnessed his close circle of friends with a gun against each of their heads. He had had to 'die' and exile himself to protect them. This would change any man, and perhaps Sherlock had changed for the better for it, in the long run, but he would always have to deal with that memory. That was one thing he could not ever erase. Robin's actions had mirrored both his own at the time of the fall and the danger that the people he cared about had been put through. And that is why, perhaps, he had acted with more…emotion…than she had ever seen him act before. Even he had a limit.

With that settled, however, Robin was able to move on and put the incident behind her. It probably wouldn't happen again…right?

By midday, John and Mary had come to pick her up as she had filled out all the necessary paperwork. It was a gloomy late spring day in London, but Robin was glad for it. She had missed the outside as she was stuck in bed, as the room hadn't had a good view, but at least with a gloomy day Robin wouldn't become wistful and hate being stuck in bed at home more than she already did.

John had helped her along the hospital's busy corridors, keeping her steady as she still suffered a concussion, among everything else. He had read off most of her forms for her and had held her steady as she signed the papers.

Mary had helped the still sore woman change into a set of her normal clothes that they picked up from the hacker's apartment with the help of Mr Forester. The shirt she wore was large and loose so that her back wasn't smothered and it was actually one of her favourites; a dark navy blue cotton shirt with an embroidered sleeping fox on a little breast pocket. It seemed to be a small thing, but such a comfort really did calm her. A shawl was draped around her shoulders, a reddish tartan printed one, to keep her warm and cover her wrapped shoulder. Mary had a coat for her too, along with an extra jumper just in case.

Robin, for her part, was equally touched and confounded to see that two people knew her so well that they could guess not only her clothing style but also remember her favourite articles. In the back of her mind, however, she noted that there was a direct difference between deducing it and storing such information versus remembering it simply for sentimentality's sake. They would make good parents.

"So, what are you going to with your hair?" asked Mary as she passed her friend her pants, a loose beige corduroy pair. Robin was behind the curtain now, for modesty's sake, no longer needing help to navigate her clothes…hopefully. It had already been awkward enough to let the nurse, no matter how professional she had been, take her hospital clothes off and help her dress her upper half.

She had had to close her eyes for most of it in fear of Mary's reaction to seeing the skin-and-bone frame that was littered with imperfections. Scars, freckles, birthmarks, scrapes, more scars. For a woman like Robin, it took a lot out of her to reveal herself, even to someone she thought of as a friend. She had not had the choice, in this case, and she had silently thanked Mary a thousand times when the nurse had kept silent about whatever she had noticed. She had felt the nurse's hands still for a brief second after first getting the hospital garb off, maybe she had even heard a small intake of breath, but she was thankful for nothing else

"What do you mean?" Robin asked, her hand unconsciously raising to feel her hair.

"Well, they had to shave a bit of you hair off to get to the fracture, didn't they? Just being your ear, right?"

She understood why they had had to do it, the surgeons that is, since they not only had to stitch the gash in her head but also clean up her ear. There was a goodly sized shaved patch just around the nape of her neck, on the right side where the sniper's bullet had passed. The patch had grown in the three weeks she had been in the hospital, but nonetheless it was something Robin would have to deal with. It was messy, but Robin supposed it was easy enough to fix. Although she maintained her long raven black hair, she wasn't vain enough to really care about the loss.

Sure, her hair was one of her better features, she supposed, but she wore it up most of the time anyway. It would only be a small change to shave the other side of her nape to even out the cut and then just leave it to grow out.

"Well, I think I'll just roll with it."

"Yeah?, I know a good stylist if you need one."

"I suppose…but I know how to cut my own hair and I have a buzzer set."

"Really? You're not going to cut all of your hair off are you?" Mary suddenly sounded more alarmed.

"I don't know, maybe it's time for a change anyway," Robin contemplated, trying her best to shove one leg into her pants without toppling over. It was silent for a tick before Mary replied.

"Aren't you the one that was always averse to change?" asked Mary from behind the curtain. Clear amusement could be heard in her voice, but a touch of curiosity could be detected too.

Robin paused, her shoulders slumping a bit. Mary wasn't talking about the hair anymore. It was obvious even to Robin what she wanted to discuss. Robin decided to sit down before she toppled over, not trusting herself just yet.

"I-I was…then I decided to take a bullet for Sherlock and almost died," replied Robin tersely, wondering where her friend was going with the conversation. Although Robin doubted she'd change significantly anytime soon, she had to accept that she had done something completely against her paradigm and now had to not only digest the change but also deal with the consequences.

"You weren't going to die," placated Mary, although she didn't sound particularly convincing.

"Well…it felt like it."

"Yeah, and what was that about anyway?" came the now clearly curious question.

Flashes of the incident reached Robin's mind, filling her thoughts with unpleasant feelings and memories she had experienced. Why had she done it? She didn't regret it, of that she was certain. In the long run, she knew why, and who she wanted to protect. The question was, why had she suddenly broken her own protocol? It went against any programming she had ever given herself. It was like a virus had taken over her…although the outcomes would still have to be weighed to see if they were good or not. Then, without her consent, Robin remembered what had happened last night and flushed. That had just been the beginning of the repercussions and she didn't like it. Gladly she was still behind the curtain and Mary was oblivious to Robin flustered state.

"W-well…I couldn't just leave him. I found out something was wrong and…I didn't really think. I just knew that I had to get to him and I couldn't let John see his friend…well, you know," Robin tried to explain, hoping that Mary understood. It seemed, however, that the nurse was much more intuitive than previously thought.

"Robin, I'm asking you this as your friend and confidant… You don't have to answer, but…" started Mary.

Robin, now flustered and a bit frustrated, interrupted.

"Why is it that people always sneak around the subject like this when they talk to me! Even Sherlock does it and he's the most direct person I know," she snapped, maybe just a bit too loudly. She might not be strong, but she wasn't made of porcelain. She was a bit more resilient than people gave her credit. Mary took it in stride, however.

"Fine, fine. I've been talking to John and well…We think you might care for Sherlock."

"Of course I do! We've established this already," replied Robin back immediately, still a bit flustered. "We all do! That's why we're his friends!"

Robin seemed to have missed the whole point of Mary's inquiry. Or maybe she was ignoring it.

"No, well, I mean, do you perhaps hold romantic feelings for Sherlock?" tried Mary again.

Robin was silent, already knowing the answer but not wanting to say it out loud. She'd already had a hard enough time coming to terms with it in her head.

"Robin?"

"You know that saving someone doesn't immediately mean that I have feelings for the man."

"Yeah, alright, but do you?"

"I-I…don't really know," she admitted. "When John first started telling me about Sherlock, he was like a fairytale…actually, no, he was better than a fairytale because he was real and I don't believe in fairytales. I learnt so much about him from John that I thought I knew what he was…is…like. Then, Sherlock came back and suddenly the stories were real, I knew of him, but now I can really get to know him. And more importantly I was able to know him…I didn't just fade back into the shadows. Right there in front of me was this amazing…infuriating, and good man. And I still really don't know what to do with that but it seems like he likes me, and…and I really want to be friends. I want to know him." Robin didn't mention how she still felt guilty about him knowing so little about her, even thought she wanted to know him. She didn't mention how intimidating he could still be, and how glorious he could be at the same time.

Mary was silent now, seemingly shocked by Robin's admission. Robin herself didn't know whether to give up or not on her thoughts. Mary had mentioned to Robin that she and John had been seeing some pretty peculiar behaviour from their friend while Robin was in the hospital. He had been…fussy. He had, for the most part, acted normal and had been busy with his revival, but he would on occasion ask John or Mary about Robin. Sherlock told them it was because he wanted to see how far along her healing was, to see if she was 'useful' again, but Robin didn't think anyone believed it. But then again, she didn't want to over think things.

"I don't know Mary…I have time to think of this right now," added Robin quickly. Mary seemed to understand and nodded, but not before asking one more question.

"But would you date him if he asked? Even if you don't really know who he is to you."

At this, Robin laughed as best she could. She couldn't see it, she really couldn't. Sherlock, dating! Mary laughed as well after a moment, thinking it through.

"I don't know if he'd ever let it happen…a…uh…relationship, I mean. There's a level of selflessness and sacrifice that is particular to a romantic relationship. I'm not sure if he'd ever be willing to make that work…or whether I'm able to either, really."

Of course, Mary didn't know what had happened between the two just the evening before and Robin had no inclination to tell anyone.

"Bloody hell."

On Robin's part, she was perfectly happy keeping things platonic with Sherlock. At the very least, they'd have to ease into the notion and at the moment they were both too busy for that. They were also both very averse to speaking about emotions in general. Both of them were inexperienced, more or less, and Robin didn't want to deal with getting her heart pulled left and right while Sherlock decided what he wanted.

Regardless, she wasn't going to be pushed around on this matter. On that, she was clear. She wouldn't let herself get too immersed.

"Yep…"

Robin held the strong belief that she should put her feelings and the events produced around those feelings in her past and move on. At the very least, she'd pursue this line of thought until a new variable was introduced and the likelihood of success was higher. It was logical, after all.

"Pass me my glasses, would you?" she asked, just about finished changing. Mary hadn't said anything further but saw that the subject had been dropped.

"Here," said the nurse, passing Robin's glasses to her.

Done changing, they left the hospital room finally to meet up with John in the front. Gladly, the hospital was empty enough so that Robin could hobble along with the aid of Mary without bumping or getting too close to anyone. She was still, sadly, a bit too jumpy. Mary had asked if she wanted a wheelchair, but Robin had spit out a vehement reply of no. She really, _really_ , hated wheelchairs.

"Hey!" John called out, coming over to kiss his girlfriend on the cheek and greet his friend. He helped Robin down the corridor, supporting her arm just in case. Being stuck in bed for three week, even when almost two-thirds of that time was passed practically unconscious, was not fun and had caused Robin to become quite wobbly on her feet. Sure, she had regained some mass, but that didn't mean that she hadn't lost some muscle ability. The week of strict dieting, which Robin called the anti-diet since its goals had been to make her gain weight, had paid off somewhat. She'd regained enough weight so that her ribs were no longer clearly visible, which Robin was quite proud of.

"By the way, Rob, did you ever meet Molly while you were here?" asked John suddenly, just as they were exiting the building. The summer weather had finally begun, but that didn't mean that London's weather was supposed to improve. The gloom of the day had persisted, but gladly it wasn't a far walk from the hospital's entrance to the nearest street corner. Mary had laid Robin's coat on her shoulders soon after leaving to building, as Robin was not able to stretch up and put it on herself.

The hacker winced as she continued to walk down the street with John and Mary. Yes, she had met the mousy pathologist. In all honesty, they had got on quite well but it had been early days after Robin had awoken and she had been still quite loopy from the pain-killers.

Honestly, Molly was lovely and they had spoken briefly on their mutual exasperation over Sherlock, about Molly's fiancé Tom, and a few other things, but Robin hadn't been able to hold out for long and had fallen asleep half way through speaking. Or maybe she had started babbling nonsense…or worse, code. She didn't really remember everything that had been said and now she wondered if she had let anything slip.

The next visit had turned out worse. It was just after the doctor had visited Robin and she had been both drugged and irritable and she had snapped at the pathologist. She was horrified that she had done so, something that was quite against her nature, but even though she hadn't raised her voice much, she had mentioned something that had upset Molly and soon the other woman had left, leaving Robin alone again.

Gladly, the young pathologist hadn't come back, probably quite busy, and Robin was glad for it. Robin didn't know what to think about it, so she didn't. She didn't plan on seeing Molly much and she didn't feel like searching her out to apologize…even though she knew she probably should.

Glancing at John, however, she simply nodded.

"Yep. She was nice," was all she said as she finally entered a taxi that had come at John's call. Mary and John exchanged a look but left it be, happy just to have Robin back with them.

…

Robin had spent a whole week walking. She walked to the shop, the bank, to every possible park she could get to. The month of May was at its end but Robin was determined to at least see some spring flowers, even if they were already wilting. The week was refreshing, if not painful, but Robin was stubborn. She needed to get away from everything and clear her lungs of hospital air. She needed to be able to be independently mobile.

Hyde Park and Regent's Park were lovely this year, often hosting musical events or some sort of market, so Robin found herself slipping past strangers so see if she could enjoy herself. She stuck to the less populated areas, but she enjoyed the weather as best she could.

This lasted, of course, until John had come home to an exhausted Robin laying on the floor. She had said that it was fine and that it was her own choice to lie there, stating that it was cooler down there, but John would have none of it.

…

Two more weeks had passed since Robin had returned from the hospital and she was ready to throw something. It was the middle of June but London was still the drizzling metropolis it normally was. Cooler climates also allowed Robin a good excuse to continue wearing her shawls and sweaters, which was at least one good thing. It still didn't help her boredom, however.

She wasn't allowed at a computer unless it was for _really important_ work, and only for a limited time. Mr Forester had insisted that she stay mostly in bed, except for his stupid morning exercises which had Robin stretching in ways she did not like. She continued her walking routine, enjoying it, but had to convince Mr Forester that it was for her own good. Afterwards, he had gone so far as to try to persuade Robin to go to the countryside for a while, stating that it would be good to get 'London out of her lungs.' But that was crossing a line.

She was also being fed like it was a medieval feast. Mr Forester had somehow ganged up on Robin with Mrs Hudson. The young woman had no idea when the two had met, guessing it was probably at the hospital, and cursed under her breath. Because of this new tactical team extraordinaire, Robin had probably gained a whole five pounds since only last week! Even when she insisted she was full Mr Forester wouldn't listen and would just leave more and more of Mrs Hudson's baking about. She had found a plate of dishes in the washroom!

Although she appreciated the help, Robin was an independent sort of sick person. She was an independent person, period. She didn't like being held up, or forced to do nothing. She knew her injuries were bad but the concussion was minor, even with the fracture, and all the other wounds were healing well enough. She didn't know how much more of this coddling she could take.

 _Honestly, I_ _'_ _m at my wits end! - R_

Robin was sitting up in her bed at the moment. It was early evening and Mr Forester had gone down for his dinner, leaving Robin alone with hers. She had been able to get her hands on her phone earlier in the day and had been texting people. It had started with John, asking about how he was doing. The general conversation had been nice but all together quite dull. Although…John had had a good story about one of his clinic patients.

Next, Robin proceeded to text Mycroft, asking to see if he had any work for her. The elder Holmes had responded that he did, but it would by simpler to ask Sherlock about it, since it was technically the consulting detective's case. After some more inquiry and a mild threat, Mycroft had given her a resounding 'no.' Huffing, Robin sighed. Right, time to pull it together. She had been dreading this moment.

Although she had resigned herself to a platonic relationship with Sherlock, she still felt awkward thinking of him. They hadn't spoken or seen each other since he had hugged her, and she hadn't the faintest idea what to do about it. Even more awkward was the fact that she didn't know whether saving his life changed anything or not…which she hoped didn't. She didn't want to tell anyone about what had happened, even if it was to ask for advice. No. She'd just have to suck it up. She took a bullet for the idiot, the least he could do was have a normal conversation.

Her phone dinged, indicating that Sherlock had replied to her message.

 _And to what do I owe you for your exasperation? -SH_

Sherlock had replied, sounding like himself. At least in text it was less likely that Robin fucked something up and embarrassed herself…or Sherlock.

 _Have you noticed Mrs H baking more often? -R_

… _Indeed, I have. -SH_

 _Well, I have your answer as to why. -R_

 _And? -SH_

 _Mrs Hudson and Mr Forester have met each other. Chaos now ensues. -R_

It took a moment for Sherlock to reply now, probably grinning too hard to reply.

 _When did they even meet? -SH_

 _How should I know? -R_

 _Although, probably at the hospital. Mrs Hudson did come and visit a few times. -R_

 _You must be in agony, -SH_

 _Don_ _'_ _t get me even started! I appreciate it and all, but I need to work! I need space! And I need to not feel like a stuffed pig ready for the oven -R_

 _John would point out that you sound quite a bit like me at the moment. -SH_

 _Well, he can sod off. I miss my work. -R_

Again, a pause. Robin took the time to eat some more of her cooling dinner.

 _And what have you been doing so far? -SH_

 _Netflix. Netflix and sleep. And eat. And walk. I_ _'_ _ve gained more weight in the last two weeks than I have all of last year! -R_

 _Hm. I pity you, truly. -SH_

 _How I wail at my despondence. -R_

Robin wouldn't ask him. No, she wouldn't ask him for work. Sherlock knew that Robin would work with him, but he'd have to ask. Robin was seldom stubborn, but she found with Sherlock, when she was comfortable, she couldn't help but butt heads with the idiot.

A whole hour went by before Sherlock replied. Finally, it seemed that Robin had for once one their battle of wits.

 _If you are in need of work, meet me in 221B tomorrow at noon. I have something that might interest you. -SH_

Robin smiled in delight. It was perfect timing. Mr Forester was supposed to be down in the shop for most of the day tomorrow so Robin could slip away without minor incident. 221 was only a block or two away, really.

 _I_ _'_ _ll be there. -R_

Her grin stretched to the point of being manic when she thought of once again getting at her computers again. All she had to do now was swallow down her apprehensive feelings about seeing the detective and all would be well. _'_ _Remember, it_ _'_ _s Sherlock. He probably has already forgotten, or is smart enough to ignore the situation. Just act normal,_ _'_ she told herself before settling in for the night.

…

"London. It's like a great cesspool into which all kinds of criminals, agents and drifters are irresistibly drained. Sometimes it's not a question of 'Who?'; it's a question of 'Who Knows?'" recited Sherlock, pacing around 221B Baker Street in his red dressing gown.

The detective had immediately taken up shop in his old flat after Moran had disappeared and ever since it had come out that he was alive, he had been spending most of his time there. Robin knew he hadn't yet faced the media, but his silence only added to everyone's hype about his return. But so far, at least, Sherlock seemed to be glad, for the most part, that at least the media wasn't swarming just yet. They seemed content to wait for the appointed 'interview' date Mycroft had set up.

Of course, the detective was becoming more and more fidgety. When Robin had enquired as to why, Sherlock had scoffed and ignored her. She had later found out from John that Sherlock was getting antsy, probably also wanting the media business to be done and over with. Robin had wondered if Sherlock was stalling to see if all of this would just blow over and everyone would ignore him…which was very unlikely.

Still, everything was as it once was in 221B Baker Street, if not a bit less dusty than it had been in recent times. The eclectic feel of the flat was ever present but late spring sun streamed through opened windows now, brightening the home and showing that, without a doubt, it was once again inhabited. Without John around, Sherlock was also able to do whatever he wanted with the kitchen and had yet to announce a plan for John's old room.

Robin's mind was wondering, her thoughts split. She gazed at Sherlock as he paced, but were not fully focused on him. She noted his normal black formfitting suit, his cream coloured button up shirt, his ruffled hair. As Sherlock paced, lecturing and sorting through a multitude of papers he had spread around the flat, Robin sat in John's old chair, her laptop out and taking note of what she was supposed to do. She would eventually have to do some crowd control once the media caught wind of not only Sherlock's story, but also the whispers of the possible terrorist attack…not to even mention Moran and Moriarty's stories.

Still bandage-wrapped, mostly for bracing or to protect new skin, she wore a thick sweater and another shawl around her shoulders. She'd opted for a pair of form-fitting jeans and tall boots. Her hair was in a ponytail and the back of her neck was shaved, although it was mostly hidden under the shawl. Her glasses, round-rimmed as usual, were perched on the tip of her nose.

She had come over to Baker Street, swallowing down a ball of nerves, just as they had agreed the night prior. Sherlock wanted to get started on the terrorist case and he needed to brief her on what she'd be doing. She didn't know if he knew that she knew about the case. Mycroft had messaged her soon after she had asked him to 'abduct' Sherlock while John had tried to propose, explaining broadly what was going on. Although the Prime Minister was putting Sherlock at the forefront of the case, Robin had already begun working in the background, which, of course, was her specialty. So far, she was focusing on checking where the intel had come from and whether it really was verified. She didn't trust one agent's report, even if they had given their lives. So far, she had caught wind of something, but she had had to go through several contacts. She had wanted to get more done before today, but even Mycroft was withholding information, saying that she was still too injured.

' _Of course it_ _'_ _s_ now _that he develops a consciousness. Right as we get an order from the bleeding_ Prime Minister _!_ _'_ she thought in exasperation, leaning back into John's old chair. It was comfy, and just her style. She could see why John had preferred it.

At the very least, Robin was happy to get out of the flat and away from Mr Forester's coddling. Even though she still wasn't at her best, she was improving and she needed to do something. She had limited her working hours, but she couldn't simply spend each day walking in the park. She also couldn't avoid her friends any longer, or at least, one of her friends.

She supposed, the best thing about knowing Sherlock was that it was easy to move past certain things if they were deemed inconsequential. Apparently Sherlock's hug was irrelevant to him, or at least the case was more important, so gladly the two were able to work amiably without too much tension between them.

Sure, it wasn't really healthy to ignore what had happened but it worked for now and that was fine. Robin scolded herself, however, noticing that she had stayed far away from Sherlock since the incident. She really had begun to avoid him, and now really was not a good time to do that. They needed to work together. It was her natural reaction but just being aware of the fact caused some awkwardness from her part. Sherlock, of course, was like an impenetrable rock.

"If this man cancels his papers, I need to know," continued Sherlock, now pointing to his wall.

Robin snapped out of her wandering thoughts immediately, her head flicking up to see what Sherlock was pointing at.

His wall was covered in maps and photos. A projection of what his mind palace looked like.

Robin nodded, jotting down the information. Course, she was a bit too far away to see the name of the individual, but she'd get that later once Sherlock moved out of the way.

"If this woman leaves London without putting her dog into kennels, I need to know."

Again, Robin nodded, this time taking a photo on her phone and texting to picture to Sherlock's Homeless Network. She had no idea why the dogs were important but she knew better than to ask at the moment. And, yes, she had contacts in the Homeless Network, of course she did. Robin had known Sherlock for over half a year now, and had known about his network for almost two, since meeting John. She had always wondered what had happened to the network after their leader had 'died.' Now that she knew Sherlock personally she would be foolish not to take advantage of that particular information highway. Still, why dogs?

"There are certain people – they are markers. If they start to move, I'll know something's up – like rats deserting a sinking ship."

Sherlock must have seen her confusion over the lady and her dogs, as he had just answered the exact question Robin had been thinking.

It was all very theatrical, what Sherlock was doing. He was pacing around and flinging things left and right. His face contorted in thought and he moved about the room with quite a bit of enthusiasm, never focusing on one place for long. Maybe he was just excited to be back in the game after such a long time. She couldn't blame him.

"A-um, when would you like the first report ready by?" she asked, finally getting a word in after noticing that Sherlock had finished his little speech. She almost wanted to clap but she refrained. He was such a drama queen, honestly.

She smiled lightly, enjoying seeing the detective in his natural state. This was the man from John's stories that had initially intrigued her so much.

Sherlock, on his part, had apparently forgotten she had been in the room. He jumped slightly, his eyes flicking to her for a moment. His expressing seemed to show a dawning of comprehension, as if he had just realized why he had been speaking out loud on the first place.

"I'll text you if I need anything specific but once you have something concrete, contact me," he replied. Robin's brow furrowed.

"Are you expecting a long waiting time?" she asked hesitantly.

"Yes. Although Mycroft assures me that there is a threat, his only real proof of it was the word of a dying operative and, however tragic it is, the source is just not credible," admitted Sherlock. No matter how cold his opinion was, he was right. Still…

"I've tried to confirm the intel already…but it's not concrete. There is a rumour that I've received from a rat out around Sudan, but I can't really trust it. I'll try and get Mycroft to send me the original report, and maybe I can track where it was sent from" suggested Robin, typing away but looking up at the detective.

Sherlock nodded in agreement. No matter what Mycroft said, he'd rather have Robin look it over first.

"What do you think?" continued the hacker, looking right at Sherlock.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you think, from whatever you've learnt, that there will be a terrorist attack?"

Sherlock paused, thinking it over.

"I do believe that something will be upon us, but to whether it's a terrorist attack or not, I do not know and I will not speculate. Until I see my rats flee, I won't know for sure."

"Fair enough," admitted Robin, closing her laptop. She had all the information she needed. Breathing hard, she ignored the twisting feeling in her stomach and finally stood. Approaching Sherlock's wall, she came up beside him and gently crossed her arms in thought. Her back stretched painfully, but not awfully so. Sherlock, who was next to her, noticed and raised an eyebrow.

"Are you sure you are up for this, I do not need your help if you are not able to-" he started, furrowing his eyebrows.

"No! No…I'm fine," placated Robin quickly. "I am well enough to help, Sherlock, and I'll be damned if I get stuck in bed for another month. My head will be clear." She was a bit frustrated that even Sherlock was tiptoeing around her because of this stupid injury. He of all people should know of Robin's need to get back on her feet.

"I will not have you compromise the case, Robin. You will work on intel, and that's _final._ You might have to accompany me if I pick up any leads, but nothing else, go it?" he ordered, pointedly. Again, he had to put the case first.

The hacker's latest actions went against anything she had ever done, and she wasn't even sure if she wouldn't do it again if she needed. Sherlock seemed to flinch next to Robin as he watched her, but before Robin noticed anything further, he had gone back to watching the wall.

Robin, on her part, looked almost livid. Or as close to livid as Robin could get. She had become angry the last time. She wasn't as outwardly angry this time, but that odd hollow gaze she had had when he had first met her was back. Sherlock seemed to be able to recognize it now, it was the gaze that told him she was giving up. Without Robin noticing, Sherlock's eyes became sad as he let out a quiet breath slowly.

Robin had retreated back a bit from Sherlock, not looking at him anymore.

" _Incorrigible._ If you're wondering if I'll be throwing myself in front snipers anytime soon, I can reassure you, Sherlock, that I won't be," she snapped at him, her voice weary. She was so tired of the constant tip-toeing. Although her logic told her it probably wasn't true, it still hurt to think that Sherlock's didn't even appreciate what she had done for him. It was stupid, she knew. Still, she could never tell him that she would probably do it again.

She turned from the wall, walking over to the desk to shuffle through some papers. She didn't want to deal with this anymore. Everyone was constantly watching her. She wasn't even suicidal! She turned from Sherlock, grabbing some papers to take with her and putting them in her bag. Under her breath she muttered.

"With the reaction I'm getting from everyone…I wonder…if I should have even bothered," muttered Robin darkly, tired and annoyed. She didn't think that Sherlock would overhear. "I don't know why I bother…maybe if I had aimed properly, I wouldn't have to de-"

"Stop that!" interrupted Sherlock, overhearing the tired woman, his expression disturbed. She had moved on from those types of thoughts. Had he proven to her that she wasn't useless, hadn't he? Sherlock's expression went from disturbed to worried, and Robin flinched away at his emotions.

Seeing what she had done, shifted away, shamed. _'_ _Why am I still thinking of this? I survived a_ sniper _! Of all the things to kill me, I had survived the one thing that I had thought would take me in the end and I had saved the one I care for at the same time_ _…'_ she scolded herself mentally.

Sherlock, against his better judgement, softened when he saw Robin's reaction. He stepped towards her hesitantly, not really knowing what to do. He stared at her for a while, and Robin figured he was deducing her once again. Finally, Sherlock seemed have made up his mind and simply placed a hand on her uninjured shoulder, squeezing it lightly. It seemed to startle her, as she looked up.

"I-I'm sorry, Sherlock. Look…I'm fine," she started, smiling weakly. "I still get tired and I hurt but I don't regret what I did. Still, I'm not such a big idiot as to do it again." Robin was consoling not only Sherlock but herself. She knew, and the detective probably deduced, that she would do it again, but only if the circumstances were truly dire.

Sherlock kept his hand on her shoulder.

Robin, drawing in a shaky breath, as neither she nor the man in front of her were quite good at speaking about more delicate subjects, steeled herself.

"Still, Sherlock, next time you've got to keep in mind you've got a whole team of backup waiting for you. You…you cannot go rushing in as you did. Had you waited until Lestrade was ready, I wouldn't have had to go in. I…I warned Lestrade, as soon as I found out. But…you didn't have any means of c-communication and I didn't know where you were for a while and John was almost separated from you and-" rambled Robin, trying to get her thoughts across.

She didn't notice Sherlock's cold gaze, first resilient against her criticism of his actions, thaw and soften. His expression, suddenly realizing that what he had done was really, really _not good,_ was twisted in an odd sort of painful expression. He felt shame, something that he hadn't felt for some time.

Robin squirmed, trying not to look at her friend, nervous about how he would react. His expression made her sad, but she knew that it was good for him.

It was like ripping off a bandage, and it looked like Sherlock wanted to say something. Still, Robin wouldn't look at him directly, so he brought up his other hand, laying it on Robin's neck delicately, aware that it was her injured side.

His hand on her left side rose as well, catching the nape of her neck and feeling the shaved bit of hair, still scarred and red from where the bullet had hit. Looking vaguely intrigued as he hadn't quite fully taken in the new haircut. His thumb rubbed some of the shaved hair behind her ear, testing how it felt as the motions were random.

Robin was now paying full attention to him, hoping that she didn't look as enraptured as she felt. She tried not to let slip how nice it felt as he explored the little shaved bit behind of her head. His face was lightly scrunched with concentration, as if he had something very important to do. Robin didn't back off or flinch, and he found that reassuring.

"Robin, I do not say this often so listen well," began Sherlock, keeping as imperial a voice as he seemed to be able to at the moment, with his thumb still testing Robin's hair. He paused a moment, swallowed, before continuing.

"I'm sorry for my actions and what they caused," admitted Sherlock, tugging lightly on Robin's head so that he met his intense stare. She had been distracted, and admittedly enjoying, Sherlock's attention, although it caused a maelstrom of confusing thoughts to whirl through her head. His words, however, brought her back to the present. Sherlock had once again invaded her personal space and had deemed it necessary to keep a hold on her. His hands were quite large, and warm, so she didn't have too much of a problem.

Processing his apology, she smiled brightly, fully aware of the implications. He, the stubborn git, had admitted he was wrong and had apologized for his actions. Oh, if only John was here.

"Don't forget John was already watching your back," she reminded playfully.

"Well…I did go alone for a long time during my exile…I might have forgotten…you know what I mean," huffed Sherlock in reply. Of course he remembered John!

"O-On my part…I'll try not to do anything that would stop me from being useful," she replied.

Sherlock's brow furrowed before he huffed in agitation. Suddenly, startling Robin a bit, Sherlock growled angrily and tightened his grip.

"I do not know why you obsess with being 'useful.' You are worth more than just…than just being the Quartermaster," he ground out. It seemed almost painful for him to admit such a thing, but it seemed to have been bugging him for some time.

Robin, still a bit shocked at the sudden grip, sucked in a breath. She contemplated Sherlock's words, but she couldn't quite focus well. To her, usefulness was all that she had, or at least that had been the case before John. She had her work but without family or friends she didn't have the leisure of support, of companionship. It was hard to break habits, and for years her life was driven by the work she did. And to her, life only meant having a purpose, which was hard without any relations to give her something. She had been able to do something. If she didn't have a reason for being, what was the point of her?

She was sore, tired, and she could feel Sherlock's breath tickle her lightly. She noticed that he smelled of smoke and old books, and slightly of sterilizer. _'_ _That makes sense,_ _'_ she thought vaguely.

He was right, probably, but the Quartermaster was a part of her that she needed. She had been _only_ the Quartermaster for so long, that being Robin was odd. She had had three years to get used to it, but old habits die hard. She was finding herself ever since she had met John. She didn't have a good childhood, she didn't have parents or siblings, she didn't know how to behave around people. The Quartermaster knew what she was doing, gave her control, gave her purpose.

But Sherlock was telling her that maybe she was more than the sum of her previous actions.

Robin could be defined by the people she cared about.

The two seemed to be perfectly content in the odd position they were in, at least for the moment. Robin tried to ignore the urge to observe every part of Sherlock's face, and still tired, closed her eyes instead.

Breathing in slowly, she composed herself, ready to ask another question.

"Sherlock-" she began, but never finished as 221b's door suddenly opened, revealing Mycroft.

Sherlock, who had reacted too late, pulled away from Robin quickly, spinning around and once again stone faced. Robin, for her part, backed away as well, eventually leaning against the desk by the windows, looking down and away, flustered. She briefly wondered if Sherlock was as affected as she was, but brushed it off, telling herself not to be silly.

"Hello, brother," greeted Sherlock coldly to a mildly surprised Mycroft.

…


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 - The Good, The Bad, The Awkward**

…

"M-Mycroft," stuttered out Robin, who was now as flush as a beet. Once again Sherlock had done something unexpected, something unlike himself. Robin couldn't wrap her mind around it. Did he care for her like she did for him? Was he just expressing his friendship oddly? Was he playing with her? No, if anything, Sherlock might be manipulative but he had no reason to play her like that. He was…honest…at least with the fact that he did not normally involve himself with others like that. She shouldn't dwell on it, as it would only fester.

Recovering, she shoved down the burning pit in her stomach, telling herself it didn't matter and that she couldn't do anything for now. _'_ _Why, oh why, of all people to interrupt us it had to be Mycroft,_ _'_ she cursed silently.

Her body aching with a greater fatigue than she'd felt before, she nodded idly to the elder Holmes and made her way over to the black couch on the other side of the sitting room. She had to lay down. Her legs felt like jelly, and they would buckle any moment now, she was sure.

Making it to the couch, she plopped down onto the mattresses and curled up in a ball, facing into the couch.

Mycroft, on his part, recovered quickly and ignored what had just happened. An almost pitying look flashed over his face as he nodded back to Robin. Whether he pitied her for her painful injuries or for what had just happened, the hacker couldn't say.

"Robin, so nice to see you again," greeted the government. "Although, I have seen you in better days, I have to admit. I hope Sherlock hasn't been…pushing you…too much."

That was Sherlock's cue to cut in, it seemed. He had been glaring icily at Mycroft since he had entered the flat, uninvited.

"I do not know what you are talking about. If Robin was exhausted…which she clearly is…she can decide for herself what she is to do. I am not holding her against her will," bit back Sherlock.

"Are you, thought?" replied Mycroft.

Walking over to the couch, the elder Holmes lightly poked Robin with his umbrella, rousing her. She really was tired. She was on mild pain medication and her head was still mildly concussed, but she still was hurt, even if it was now only 'mildly'.

Turning up her head slightly to glare at Mycroft, she had to take a moment to compose herself. She was acting quite childish…or quite Sherlock-ish really, and it wasn't helping her embarrassment.

"Sorry…s-sorry. I should probably get out of here," she muttered, getting up stiffly. Mycroft was smart enough to help the woman in front of him by holding her elbow as she steadied herself.

"Thanks…" said Robin, brushing herself off and trying to ignore the fact that she had the attention of both Holmes brothers at the moment. If she were any less weary, her normally hyperactive mind would probably set off in a panic. It was bad enough at times to have anyone's attention on her, let alone two genius'.

"I do think you should be heading home, for all of our sakes. You look horrible," admitted Sherlock, to which Robin return a scathing glance. _'_ _Great communication skills, git._ _'_

"Ouais,…I do think we're done for today. You two no doubt have quite the discussion ahead of you and, though normally I'd be up to watching an intellectual tennis game, I do admit I need some rest," mocked Robin cordially, stuffing her emotions away for later and focusing on getting through the discomfort and fatigue. Although Robin was a timid person, being in front of the two Holmes' also brought out a bit of the Quartermaster's forward nature. Just enough to get her by.

"Will you be fine getting home?" asked Mycroft.

Robin nodded. "I'll be fine," _'_ _Surprising that you asked, though_ _…'_ "I'll have a report in as soon as I can, Sherlock. Text me if there's any change."

"Goodbye, Robin," dismissed Sherlock faintly, nodding to her and handing Robin her computer bag and coat.

"Thanks….well…I'll see you two later then. _Au revoir,_ ' finished Robin, turning to go down 221's steps. She hoped that all was well and Mycroft was just there for a cursory report. Or maybe just to annoy Sherlock. That would be splendid.

' _Oh, Sherlock_ _…_ _what am I to do about you?_ _'_

…

Mycroft threw a fuzzy hat at Sherlock, a zigzag knitted pattern adorning the worn wool hat, pompoms and all. Sherlock expertly caught it, immediately looking it over with a look similar to scorn. Both brothers glared at each other, play their deducing game. They had already gone through multiple board games, including Operation.

"The earlier patches are extensively sun-bleached, so he's worn it abroad…in Peru," stated Mycroft pompously, his nose up in the air as he deduced the worn out hat.

"Peru?" questioned Sherlock, silently smirking.

Robin would have gotten a right laugh out of this.

"This is a chullo – the classic headgear of the Andes. It's made of alpaca."

"No," shot back Sherlock, a triumphant smirk on his face. "Icelandic sheep wool. Similar, but very distinctive if you know what you're looking for. I've written a blog on the varying tensile strengths of different natural fibres." A small frown crossed Mycroft's face, and he tried to hold in a huff.

Just that moment Mrs Hudson decided to enter 221b, a tray laden with afternoon tea on it in her hands.

"I'm sure there's a crying need for that," she quipped sarcastically, smiling indulgently at the two brothers.

Sherlock acknowledged her presence but turned back to his brother, still playing the game.

"You said he was anxious," he inquired cautiously.

"The bobble on the left side has been badly chewed, which shows he's a man of a nervous disposition but-" started Mycroft, who once again thought he had the upper hand but was interrupted by Sherlock.

"... but also a creature of habit because he hasn't chewed the bobble on the right," finished the detective.

"Precisely."

Now it was Sherlock's turn with the hat. Of course, the next course of action was to sniff the old thing. The detective grimaced, regretting it.

"Brief sniff of the offending bobble tells us everything we need to know about the state of his breath," was all he said on the matter. He stored the information of the smell in his mind palace, locking it up. The hat smelled, horribly, but it was useful info.

Silence stretched between the two brothers for a few minutes, the hat still in Sherlock's hands. He surreptitiously gazed out of his window, checking for the occasional reporter, or spy…or both. Seeing nothing, he turned back to the matter at hand and finally came to a decision.

Sherlock turned from Mycroft, mentally smirking as he put his final plan to action. He sarcastically bit out a 'brilliant!'.

"Elementary," replied his brother, still referring to the halitosis.

Again, Sherlock smirked silently.

"But you've missed his isolation."

"I don't see it."

"Plain as day."

"Where?"

By now, Sherlock was baiting Mycroft and he was thoroughly enjoying it. If only John were here. Or, even Robin. She'd definitely enjoy this. Mycroft was a common…enemy…of Sherlock and Robin. They both had relations to him, one quite literal while Robin had worked with the elder Holme's for some time. Sherlock was not sure for how long, but long enough so that the Quartermaster referred to the government's prime agent as 'M'. A quaint and slightly egoistical moniker, in Sherlock's opinion.

"There for all to see," dragged out Sherlock.

"Tell me," inquired Mycroft, now a bit frustrated.

"Plain as the nose on your …" started Sherlock, but wasn't able to finish.

" _Tell_ me," bit out Mycroft, now showing his frustration.

Sherlock fiddled with the hat for a moment, still facing away from Mycroft. thinking over the message he was trying to convey. Was he really admitting that he, of all people, needed the people around him? And if so, what did that mean? Sure, he was also poking fun at Mycroft, but he knew in doing so he was letting slip quite the little tidbit. Uncontrollably, Sherlock's thoughts turned to his hacker. _His._ What was he thinking? She wasn't his.

Still, his own isolation had taught him quite a bit. The fact that he now had one of the most powerful hackers in the world as an ally was proof of what John had been trying to teaching him from the beginning. The fact that said genius hacker was also a timid, awkward, but extremely interesting and intelligent woman and was also his friend also sometimes confounded Sherlock.

Sherlock turned back to Mycroft now, his face blank.

"Well, anybody who wears a hat as stupid as this isn't in the habit of hanging around other people, is he?"

"Not at all. Maybe he just doesn't mind being different. He doesn't necessarily have to be isolated," replied Mycroft, almost automatically.

 _Ah ha!_ There was the crux of the matter.

"Exactly."

Sherlock looked back down at the hat, slightly repulsed and slightly endeared with the darned thing. Mycroft, on his part, still looked confused. Oh, this truly would have been gold for Robin. Sherlock decided to text her later and retell the tale for her. She had worked with Mycroft enough to really appreciate whenever Mycroft was proven wrong. But maybe he would leave out the exact details of the situation…for his own sake.

"I'm sorry?" asked Mycroft, still confused. Sherlock was now earnestly staring at his brother.

"He's different – so what? Why would he mind? You're quite right," replied the younger Holmes, placing the hat on his head and waiting until Mycroft finally got the idea.

"Why would anyone mind?"

It didn't take long for Mycroft to catch on. It was funny to watch the government flounder to say anything, his mouth opening and closing a few times.

"…I'm not lonely, Sherlock."

Sherlock stepped closer suddenly, an intense look in his gaze as he confronted his brother. Every step closer, his expression became more inflamed.

"How would you know?" cut out Sherlock, his words as heavy as stone. He did wonder if his brother had any goldfish, even if he claimed not to. He doubted it, to some extent, but he was finding that such things crept up on a person.

He took the hat off slowly, noticing Mrs Hudson in the background. She had been in the kitchen, puttering about, but had come to the archway. She smiled at him warmly, and he acknowledged it. She knew what he was trying to say, as she normally did. She had known him long enough to truly know him, and he now admitted to appreciating her for all that she did.

Things were going well for Sherlock, but it didn't last long.

His plan backfired when Mycroft himself became pensive. Although the elder Holmes had initially been shocked with Sherlock's declaration, it didn't take long to process. He sorely wanted to leave the subject but the way that he had found his little brother with Robin earlier that day made him think.

"I wonder…brother mine, if you know what loneliness is then," broached Mycroft. He saw Sherlock stiffen, but persisted.

"You would have to know companionship to know its opposite, for sure."

"Mycroft, enough…this isn't about me," warned Sherlock.

"Isn't it, thought?" replied Mycroft. He really was curious. Sherlock had come back from his mission a changed man, for sure, but the most visible change was his new companion. It was the most likely to be addressed, and it needed to be. Mycroft had known Robin for quite some time and knew more about her than most, that was clear. Although he was sworn to secrecy, he did think that one day maybe his little brother might be another person to know who Robin truly was. She was, after all, lonely too.

"I must ask after your relationship with Robin. You two have gotten quite close in recent weeks. I noticed that she quickly became a close friend, not unlike John, while you worked with her. The…ehem…earlier display shows me that you might have other motives."

Sherlock looked murderous. Mycroft might be one of the only people that could sort out the detective, but that gave him no right to pry into Sherlock's thoughts. The detective was adamant that there was noting there, anyway.

"Must I remind you, that caring is _not_ an advantage?" prompted Mycroft.

Sherlock's annoyance sparked with anger. Of course he knew that! Of course! But…isolation had not helped him when he fell. Isolation did not help him as he fought against Moriarty's network. It did not remind him of why he was doing this. It did not give him a reason to keep fighting. He sighed, his mind made up. Even logic dictated that this was his strongest option. Standing alone and strong helped him against the enemies well enough, kept them intimidated and kept him sharp and focused, but now he also had a net to catch him if he fell. All things must fall eventually, whether corroded down by time or toppled by a greater force.

"Robin is…a very strong ally to have," he began. "John once told me that…alone does not protect me, people protect me. At the time I hardly believed him. I'd say that the fall and Robin's recent rescue attempts clearly prove his point. I see no reason why I cannot stand strong while also keeping others close to me, especially if they are strong enough to stand with me," explained Sherlock. God, did this feel odd. Although he had to admit it, it still went against his very paradigm.

Mycroft, on his part, looked stunned. His brother admitting such things was unheard of. Although, being the more chaotic of the two, maybe it was what he needed. Sherlock had always been the most emotive, the most human, of the two. Sherlock could rampage all he wanted, creating chaos and solving crimes as he wished, but if he had a strong anchor, who could not loose himself. John had been Sherlock's first anchor. Maybe Robin could be his second, to brace him against harsher winds to come.

"So then, your thoughts on Robin?"

Again, Sherlock took some time to think.

"I do…not know. I classify her as a friend, but it feels off. As if the title did not suite her correctly. Or something is missing…" contemplated Sherlock.

"Regardless," he huffed, steeling his gaze. "Whatever comes, will come. Robin and I are working a case now, however, and that takes precedence. Back to work if you don't mind. Good morning," dismissed Sherlock. He waved his hands dismissively, slightly pleased at seeing Mycroft's wide-eyed expression.

"Right. Back to work," agreed Mycroft. Sherlock noticed Mrs Hudson grinning with glee. He winked at her, which made her giggle.

As soon as Mycroft left, Sherlock turned back to he wall of London, immersing himself back into his work.

…

That night Robin laughed her head off as Sherlock recalled his game with his brother. Robin couldn't believe that they had played Operation. Of all things!

She wasn't sure why he was so vague on his part, but she didn't care. Mycroft was the sort of man that was rarely wrong, or if he was, he had the power to make himself right.

Rarely was he confounded.

The young hacker hadn't laughed as hard as she did in ages. Afterwards, she had been worried she might have pulled a muscle.

…

Robin was awoken by her phone ringing loudly and buzzing about on her chest.

She had been texting in her bed the night before, updating Sherlock on what was going on and catching up with John. She must have fallen asleep suddenly, dropping the phone on her face. When had she drifted off? _'_ _Must have been around two_ _…'_

She felt still and sore, her shoulders painfully aching. It was more than a month since she'd been rushed to the hospital. A week or so unconscious, two weeks in recovery, and then another two week or so at home, recovering further.

Another week had passed since Mycroft had interrupted Sherlock and herself, but she tried to forget that. The week was mostly spent hiding under blankets or taking walks…far, far from Baker Street. It was now just a day or two off from the first day of summer and although the weather was not blistering, the parks were lush and green.

She had just gotten her final bandages removed yesterday, and her skin was awfully tender. Her right arm was still partially useless as it hurt to move, though that did not stop her. As long as she could wiggle her fingers, she could type. She had already spend a few sessions in physiotherapy, even trying exercises suggested from the web, but now the real work would begin since she no longer had to worry about reopening her wounds.

Groping around a bit with her left hand, Robin caught her phone before it fell off her bed and answered it drowsily.

" _Oh, good, you_ _'_ _re not dead. Robin, it_ _'_ _s Sherlock. You were not answering my texts. I_ _'_ _m just dropping Molly off back at her flat and heading to the address I texted you earlier. Mr Shilcott has something interesting_ _…_ _apparently_ _…_ _I believe it would be beneficial if you saw it as well. Meet me at the aforementioned address in an hour,_ _"_ ordered Sherlock from the other side of the telephone before suddenly disconnecting. Robin, who was still half asleep, only really got that she had a job in and hour at an address that was thankfully written down beforehand.

Getting up slowly, she noticed that it was nearing evening. The sky outside her window was grey, as per usual, but it looked like it might rain later. _'_ _Great, the wet is not going to do anything nice to my shoulder, is it?_ _'_ she thought, pulling on a blanket and shuffling her feet into her slippers. She had an hour and figured at this time of day there was little need to worry about traffic. So, taking her time, she slowly made her way into her kitchen and prepared a light dinner…mostly really just warm tea and some warmed up soup, but still.

Once she was done that, she went back to change into the warmest clothes she could find…which included a t-shirt, a sweater over that, and then her shawl around her shoulders to keep her warm. Over that she was able to find a relatively water-proof peacoat, which was light grey and slightly musty. Thoroughly dressed, she grabbed her computer bag, shoved her glasses on her face, put on her hat, and wellies, all before slowly making her way down her normally unused front door.

Catching a cabbie was no problem and soon enough she found herself in front of a rusty gate surrounding a perfectly average outer London home. Stone brick surrounded the property, but is was all none too appealing since the noisy street was right in front of the house. It was a particularly bleak and cold day, and the colour from the surroundings was drained, the stone colder than it should have been.

Unlocking the gate and walking through, Robin immediately caught sight of Sherlock, who was waiting for her at the door. Uncontrollably, she blushed at the sight of him. It had only been a week since she'd been to his house and she knew that since then he'd asked Molly for her help on some cases, mostly to thank her. However, since then Robin hadn't seen the detective.

She hadn't the faintest as to why he needed her, but she wasn't against the notion.

"S-so, what is this about?" she asked Sherlock once she was close enough. He looked rather stiff for a moment, maybe because of the cold, but then seemed to relax as she spoke. Ignoring her question, however, he looked her over as if in search for something.

"Do you always take that bag with you?" he inquired, motioning to her laptop bag. Robin, slightly unconsciously, tightened her grip around it.

"You asked me to bring it," she replied, defensive but not offended. Her work was in that bag, almost any tool she might need to do who knows what. Sherlock huffed, before suddenly taking it from her.

"Not my question. You have it practically wherever you go."

"I need it."

"And I commend you for your reliability."

Robin grumbled at the detective.

"I see you are feeling better today, but I need you to last at least to the end of this meeting, so I'll take the bag," he explained at Robin's perplexed look. She was, however, glad he had taken the bag. It was heavy enough to bother her and whether it was through his ingrained impeccable British manners, or that he was actually worried about her health, she was thankful.

"A-alright. Still, why are we here?" she asked again, submitting to Sherlock's odd behaviour, but nonetheless endeared.

"We are here to talk to a man about his hat, among other things," explained Sherlock vaguely. Robin rolled her eyes, but nodded.

Sherlock rang the doorbell and Robin looked even more confused when instead of the standard ringing, the bell was customized to say 'mind the gap,' as if they were in the underground.

' _The man_ _'_ _s a_ _…_ _train enthusiast?_ _'_ wondered Robin, just as the front door opened to reveal Mr Shilcott, a shorter and pudgier young man than average with a bit of a 'round' haircut. He looked innocent enough, his eyes wide but welcoming. Robin, however, allowed Sherlock to take the lead.

The detective immediately presented Shilcott with his lost hat, smiling tightly, which made Robin look at him strangely. Shilcott, on his part, was quite pleased and smiled broadly.

"Oh. Thanks for hanging on to it," sighed Shilcott in relief, taking the hat from Sherlock.

"No problem," responded Sherlock, looking quite pleased to be rid of the thing.

Shilcott motioned Sherlock to come inside.

The shorter man finally also noticed Robin behind Sherlock and nodded to her too, although he looked a bit perturbed why she would be there. She would agree with Shilcott on that sentiment.

"So, what's this all about, Mr Shilcott?" asked Sherlock coldly, getting straight to the point.

They were being led into what looked like Mr Shilcott's office. There was a tube train set in the corner of the room, which was decorated with a wheel cog mosaic along the far wall and had an overall…beige…tone to it. They had a sort of loopy wallpaper pattern on them, which reminded Robin of a mix of a celtic knot and a highway intersection. Very 60's. On the wall Robin noticed several photos of their host with his hat on standing around a variety of trains. Honestly, the whole room was filled with train memorabilia, except for a desk in front of the far wall, which had multiple computer screens and a laptop sitting on it.

Robin, noticing the computers, immediately perked up and focused on what the screen was showing, ignoring the other occupants in the room.

"My girlfriend's a big fan of yours," admitted the man, abashed.

Sherlock sneered slightly. "Girlfriend?" he muttered sarcastically, apparently trying to mock their host. Robin, though, wasn't paying much attention and so Sherlock dropped it, his joke falling short. Shilcott had, however, caught his comment and gave Sherlock an indignant glance.

Noticing that he wasn't going to get any support from Robin, who had moved off closer to the computers now, the detective sighed, seemingly disappointed that he was being ignored in lieu of a few pieces of tech. But then again, it was Robin.

"Sorry. Do go on."

"I like trains," stated Shilcott.

' _Obviously,_ _'_ thought Robin absently, who had stooped down to take a look at the computer systems Shilcott owned. They weren't anything special, but she had to admit that they were at least decent. She found no obvious signs of bugging or tampering. She had half a mind, however, to try and install a bug onto this many computers.

"…yeees?" Sherlock pushed, his tone getting annoyed.

"I work on the Tube, on the District Line, and part of my job is to wipe the security footage after it's been cleared," explained Shilcott, who sat down then at his computer. Overhearing, Robin decided that maybe a bug really was a good idea, especially if they had the recordings and access of all London tube CCTV cameras.

Robin moved quickly before Shilcott bumped into her. She stumbled back, flinching, but was caught by Sherlock before she fell. Looking up, she nodded in thanks and he smirked in reply. Her cheeks colouring, she coughed and ignored him again.

"I was just whizzing through and, er, I found something a bit bizarre," explained Shilcott further, now motioning to the screen. Sherlock glanced at Robin, who was staring intently at a certain video in particular that Shilcott was bringing up onto the screen. Unnoticed by Robin, Sherlock paused a moment to watch her, an admiring look appearing for a moment.

He stepped closer to watch over Shilcott's shoulder as he played the video. It depicted a single businessman stepping onto a stationary train. The station was underground with a fair amount of lighting and, apart from the one man, completely empty. The video itself was average quality, in black and white and nothing special, although it did incorporate multiple camera angles. It had enough detail that the man's face and the briefcase that he carried was discernible.

"Now, this was a week ago. The last train on the Friday night, Westminster station, and this man gets into the last car," explained Shilcott, playing to video on a loop.

"The car was completely empty apart from him?" asked Robin distractedly, leaning in to see the video better. She leaned away from Shilcott, but she couldn't help but try and get closer. Her fingers itched for the work she could do with the video. Was it edited? Was there a secret message, a code in the video file itself?

"Y-yes. There was no one else who boarded. I checked. I went through every bit of video of that train in particular, and even its particular car, for the past week…at least," admitted Shilcott. Robin raised her eyebrows, quirking her head, she was mildly impressed. She glanced at Sherlock, nodding at the computer. He gave her a look back, still not quite sure where this was going.

"He said he liked trains," he whispered to Robin, who smirked a bit at him.

Shilcott pulled up another video on a second screen, about the same as the last, and showed it to the other two.

"And the next stop -" he starts pointing out what was happening. The train from the previous video entered the station, looking just as empty, and stopped. "… St James's Park station ... and …," Shilcott prompted, a slight grin of satisfaction appearing on his face as he saw both Robin's and Sherlock's face catch with intrigue.

"I thought you'd like it."

The video showed the train stopping, the camera specifically on the one car the business man would have been in, only to show it empty. The whole train was now empty.

"He gets into the last car at Westminster, the only passenger …" and again Shilcott replayed the videos, switching from one screen to the next. "... and the car is empty at St James's Park station. Explain that, Mr Holmes."

Sherlock, now truly intrigued, leaned in even further to get a better view. He realized Robin was right, one never knew when she would need her computer.

"C-Can I have access to you computers, Mr Shilcott? I'd like to examine the videos. Maybe I'll find…e-editing or…or maybe," asked Robin, hesitant as normal.

"I-uh, um, well…" began Shilcott, drifting off as he didn't know the name of the woman in front of him.

"R-Robin," supplied Robin carefully.

"Call me Howard," introduced Shilcott amiably, seeming to really take notice of Robin for the first time. She didn't know why he was taking an interest now. She'd rather he continue to ignore her. Maybe he was trying to be friendly because she wasn't as intimidating as her companion, who knew.

"H-howard…" repeated Robin, looking at Sherlock questioningly. The detective only stared blankly ahead.

"I, well, I'm not sure if it's a good idea to release the videos publicly," started Howard unsurely, sure that it was against the law.

Sherlock, however, interrupted quickly with a tight lipped smile. "Ms Whittaker here is a government contact of mine, as well as a very skilled…computer analyst. You would only delay the inevitable if you were to deny her now."

Robin, who was surprised at Sherlock's description of her, looked up at him. It was very formal, though she figured it was appropriate for the circumstance. Howard, too, looked convinced and quickly got out of his seat to let Robin at the desk. Looking warily for a second, she hesitated, but gathered herself and pulled out a connection cord, a flash drive, and her own computer before getting to work.

"Was the locking mechanism on the…the cars…released at any time during the ride?" asked Robin, busy downloading as much video as she could. She also, though more subtly, installed a bugging program on all the connected computers so that she could access any new CCTV video downloaded onto these computers. _'_ _Better safe than sorry, and, really, why not._ _'_ The computers were not isolated in any sense from the main network, but they had the anonymity of the commonplace.

"No, no. I can't really check that but it doesn't look like the doors were tampered with. Plus, there'd be an alert to the main control centre, wouldn't there be. But there's something else. The driver of that train hasn't been to work since. According to his flatmate, he's on holiday. Came into some money," argued Shilcott, slightly surprised that Robin knew of the locking mechanisms. Of course, being an avid internet reader, she had come upon the information long ago. Plus, it was digitally controlled and so fell under her so-called jurisdiction.

"Bought off?" postulated Sherlock, catching Robin's attention. She nodded, agreeing with him, but focused back on her own work.

"So if the driver of the train was in on it, then the passenger did get off," Sherlock pushed.

"But the train never stopped," added Robin, although she hadn't yet confirmed it with the train's programming. She'd do that when she got home.

"There's nowhere he could go. It's a straight run on the District Line between the two stations. There's no side tunnels, no maintenance tunnels – nothing on any map. Nothing. The train never stops, and the man vanishes. Good, innit?!" exclaimed Mr Shilcott, excited to be proven right by the famous detective.

Robin stared intently at the looping videos, trying to see if she could notice any cypher, code or manipulation right away. She tried to see if there was some sort of message in the background of the video as well, but found nothing on first glance. It was hard, her eyes and mind were still a bit weary, but even so she couldn't notice anything. The businessman, however, looked familiar. Was he even a businessman? That face…she'd seen it recently.

At the same time, Sherlock had closed his eyes, going into his Mind Palace, having similar thoughts.

"I know that face…" they both murmured at the same time, lost in thought.

…


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 - Lord Moran**

…

Sherlock snapped out of his Mind Palace daze halfway down the stairs. He was being led gently, although unnecessarily, by Robin at the elbow of his coat.

"W-what are you doing?" he asked, slightly bewildered by Robin's actions.

Having not noticed that he had snapped out of his thoughts, Robin jumped a bit with fright, letting out a small sound.

"Sherlock!" she exclaimed halfway down a step, almost tripping. She held tightly onto his arm, trying to stabilize herself, and Sherlock had to put his hand on her own, to keep her from slipping down the stairs. She yelped, as he had grabbed her bad arm, and she winced.

"Are you okay?" asked Robin as she steadied herself before Sherlock could ask the same question.

Blinking, Sherlock replied.

"Of course I'm fine. What were you doing?" he questioned.

Robin flustered, shuffling nervously on the one step.

"Well, you went into your Mind Palace…and I had finished with the computers and…it was getting a bit awkward around Mr Shilcott since we finished questioning him. You weren't listening to me and then you got up and left. I-I was afraid, since you were still in your thoughts, that you might trip and I had to say goodbye to Shilcott, and-" explained Robin hurriedly, letting go of his arm and hurrying down the stairs.

Sherlock gazed at her oddly, and she didn't know why, but his brow furrowed as if he was suspicious.

"Robin, you do know I can walk perfectly fine when I'm thinking. I would have killed myself long ago if I didn't," inquired Sherlock, slowly, his expression now bemused.

Huffing, Robin flustered further.

"Well, I didn't know that! You always sit down to think!"

Sherlock, despite himself, let out a bark of a laugh. His demeanour warmed for a moment and Robin smiled back as well, although she still felt a bit miffed. Reaching the foot of the stairs, however, her mood darkened again, remembering what her last important thought had been back in Shilcott's office.

"Sherlock," she began hesitantly, gaining his attention…although it seemed it had never wavered to begin with. "Who was that man in the tube? He looked familiar," she asked, concerned.

Sherlock's mood grew serious now as well, coming to stand next to Robin. His brow furrowed further, and Robin could practically see the gears moving in his mind.

"I believe that man to be Lord Moran, a member of the House of Parliament," he started cautiously. Neither he nor Robin were sure of the connections, but Robin's heart sank as the possibilities dwindled down one by one.

The two immediately knew the significance of Lord _Moran_ , however.

Robin's eyes widened.

"Noooo. No. Moran? No," she denied profusely. She recognized the man now, however. "I checked him. When we were looking for Moran the first thing I did was check for any record of 'Moran' in England, you know that. And then the rest of the world as well! He was clear! His history is clear! He's an established member of the government with a respected history and a distinguished family!" she blurted out, snapping with stress. Sherlock's brow rose, and Robin immediately looked away. Flinching, she muttered an apology as she realized that she was starting to break.

"He's clear," she muttered again, trying to convince herself.

"Except for the Korean spy bit," added Sherlock half-heartedly. Robin shot him a frustrated look.

"Oui, mais! Il-He…I checked that too. He cannot be linked to M-Moriarty…"

"He clearly is leading a double life," speculated Sherlock further, but he himself hardly believed it.

"I found baby pictures of him!" exclaimed Robin, now a bit panicked.

"And you know they are real?"

"I-…" Robin couldn't say for sure…she could never be completely sure. But she had found sources from his hometown confirming his existence.

"He clearly is a different person than _that_ Moran." They couldn't have missed something so obvious, could they?

She didn't want to doubt her work, which was normally spotless. She remembered distinctly going through the files. She hadn't found any tampering either. How could Lord Moran be _the_ Moran? They didn't even look alike! It was just a coincidence that their names were the same. Moran was a common name, after all.

"I had a math teacher with the last name of Moran," she muttered.

Sherlock looked thoughtful. He seemed to be going through the same thought process that Robin had. Finally, he looked up at Robin, the tiniest hint of worry behind his eyes before they froze over again.

"I'm not going to rule it out. I agree that he doesn't fit the profile, nor has he any history with Moriarty, but still…his actions are suspicious," conceded Sherlock. Robin worried her lip, her brow furrowed, as she watched Sherlock close his eyes again.

Both figures were now almost huddling together in Shilcott's front foyer. They whispered to each other, heads hunched together, trying to unravel the tangled knots of information they had just discovered.

"The journey between those stations usually takes five minutes. That journey took ten minutes…ten minutes to get from Westminster to St James's Park. So I'm going to need maps…lots of maps, older maps, all the maps," he concluded immediately.

"Should I come along?" asked Robin, who already had the job of going through the video and checking Lord Moran's files again.

"Of course!" exclaimed Sherlock, and grabbing her shoulders. Robin flinched, but didn't seem disturbed or in great pain, only confused. "You'll help me greatly with your pattern-seeking brain and we still need to eat dinner."

"Dinner?" she asked, now ever more confuse. Sherlock never ate on cases, and she had had something to eat earlier.

"Well, I took you from your dinner, didn't I? If I don't want everyone angry with me for forgetting to feed you when you are still recovering from both an injury _and_ an eating disorder, I'd best feed you. As it goes, I know a good chip-shop," Sherlock concluded rapidly, smirking infuriatingly. Robin rolled her eyes, half relieved and half annoyed at his mention of her disorder. _'_ _Of course, Sherlock. That_ _'_ _s what I thought you meant._ _'_

She, however, quickly became abashed, thinking over exactly why she needed to eat. It was embarrassing to have to eat on a strict regiment because you were 'sick'. She cringed and wanted to ignore her disorder.

"I-I don't want to interrupt. I'll get something from Tesco's on the way home, I promise." It was one thing to work with Sherlock, but another to eat with him. Although, they had done it often enough when he was bunking at her flat, so what was the problem now?

"Nonsense. I still need your services and it's on the way. Come on!" ignored Sherlock, grabbing Robin's good hand and pulled her out of the house, ignoring the fact that she still wasn't dressed to go outside.

Robin huffed as she let him drag her along. She felt a small smile pull on the corner of her mouth.

She didn't know if he knew, but his energy and focus while he worked helped her keep herself focused as well. She was terrified of Moran coming back, but Sherlock's stubborn persistence let her ignore her fear.

"Alright, alright!" she exclaimed as he hailed a cab. "As long as we get chips to go."

…

"Dieux…" whispered out Robin as she followed Sherlock into the British Library. She had never been in such a large library…ever. She avoided large places like this, as a rule. Since moving to London she hadn't been to any of the large indoor buildings, especially if they had a lot of cameras. Well…unless she could help it.

She had had to go to a government building to meet Mycroft once, early on in her time in London. The young hacker had turned off all cameras for the duration of her stay. She hadn't realized it might have caused a terrorist alert.

Stopping in the main lobby of the library, she turned around slowly in a circle, taking it all in.

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Sherlock notice she wasn't following, turn, and then watch her. She needed a moment, even if they had a lot of work to do.

"Time is short," the detective called out, his voice neutral.

Huffing, Robin snapped out of it and hurried along after Sherlock, easily catching up.

"Remind me to erase every mention of myself from the security here when we get home," she mentioned, throwing a sideways glance at Sherlock. He didn't seem to notice.

…

After stopping by the chips shop, Robin and Sherlock had gone to the library, two convenience stores, and a few other places to collect about twenty maps of the London City and its underground. Robin pulled up a few more schematics online from several archives and soon they found themselves immersed with trying to figure out what had happened in those ten minutes Lord Moran had been on the train.

Maps were strewn about the Baker Street flat, night setting in fully now. A few lamps were lit, casting the shadow of two people as they hunched over one map and another. Slowly, Robin and Sherlock worked their way through, but it was a tedious job.

The hacker grumbled about being stuck at 221b, and although she had no problem with the flat, she wanted to go home. She had told Sherlock that she had a projector there, and would be able to get more work done alone, but he had insisted that they stick together. Something to do with information relay.

Robin, knowing she wouldn't win against Sherlock on this, set her mind into full analytical mode. She could not compute any scenario were Lord Moran could have disappeared if the train had stopped, not unless there was a place for it to go. A train could not be moved anywhere known and off the tracks in under ten minutes, the physics was just wrong.

Although the train was still a mystery, they had concluded that in all likelihood this was the work of the terrorist group. Robin still wasn't sure how it all connected, but of that they were pretty darned certain. Lord Moran, whoever he really was, was acting awfully suspicious. Not quite 'rat escaping' yet, admittedly, but close. They had both agreed that it would have been 'rat escaping', but then Moran had showed up the next day so he hadn't technically left. Since the incident, he was acting completely normal.

Something was up…what it was and when it would happen was another matter, however. Robin and Sherlock still had to consider the fact that perhaps Lord Moran was a victim, who had just so happened to get in the wrong train.

Perhaps he was a target?

Sherlock stood by the wall with his thought web, in his hand a half eaten tray of chips. Robin sat on the floor, maps sprawled out as she went through every one of them. She rubbed her eyes every now and again due to the oncoming fatigue that was in turn due to her full stomach. She was looking for patterns, or hidden paths, that would indicate some sort of explanation past the physical improbability. Sherlock had been right in asking her for further help. She might have settled down a bit, but her mind still ran on cyphers and codes. She was the mathematician and statistician in the group, even if Sherlock was the genius. She'd find the relation between the train, and the route it took, the fastest.

However, just as she was noting down another abandoned line on her notepad, there was a knock at the door. Mrs Hudson, who had been puttering downstairs again, went to open the door. Both Sherlock and Robin turned their heads when they heard who it was.

"Oh, Mrs Hudson," greeted Mary Morstan anxiously from the door, entering right away with great urgency. Mrs Hudson, however, had yet to meet Mary face-to-face and looked altogether confused and quite a bit suspicious. "Sorry…I-I think someone's got John…John Watson," continued Mary, sounding very worried. The nurse pushed her way towards and up the stairs. By now, Robin had gotten up, forgetting the maps, and turned towards Sherlock and the door. Sherlock, too, seemed to tense up, stilling as he listened.

"Hang on! Who are you?" asked Mrs Hudson, who had given up on stopping Mary but still looked wary.

Mary paused at the top of the stairs, realizing that she'd never formally met Mrs Hudson, not yet.

"I'm Mary," she introduced quickly. Mrs Hudson, recognizing her immediately, brightened and smiled.

"Ah!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together as she stopped, joyed at putting a face to the name she had heard about for some time.

Sherlock, however, was already out the door to meet Mary, his brow furrowed. Robin was right by his side in a second.

"Mary, what's wrong?" he asked.

The nurse grabbed her phone and showed it to the two. Robin looked at the message and furrowed her brow. Her mind still kicked in high gear, she decoded it in an instant and rushed back into the flat, suddenly tense.

"Someone sent me this. At first I thought it was just a Bible thing, you know, spam, but it's not. It's a skip-code," explained Mary, noticing her friend rush back into Sherlock's flat but ignored it. Sherlock's eyes furrowed further and his eyes showed his worry now. Concentrating, he too quickly deciphered the message.

Save souls now!

John or James Watson?

Thinking, Sherlock muttered. "First word, then every third. Save ... John ... Watson."

Saint or Sinner?

James or John?

The more is Less?

Realizing that the unimportant words didn't matter, Sherlock came up with the message 'Save John Watson. Saint James The Less.'

"Now!" exclaimed Sherlock, dropping his chips.

Robin, at that very moment, ran out of Sherlock's flat again, handing Mary a bluetooth ear device. She would not be left out this time. She would make a difference.

"Put this on, Mary. I'll just slow you down, but I'll track your progress. 999 is on the line and I'll be directing them. They're on their way," explained Robin quickly.

"You figured it out?" asked Sherlock, just as much in a rush.

"St James the Less. It's a church. Twenty minutes by car."

"Yes!" exclaimed Robin. Hurriedly wrapping Sherlock's scarf around him before pushing him forwards.

"Now go!" She didn't have to prompt either of them further. Sherlock rushed down the stairs, Mary hot on his trails while attempting to shove the bluetooth device in her ear.

…

Exploding onto the road in front of 221, Sherlock turned to Mary.

"Did you drive?" he asked urgently, his actions wound up like a coil ready to spring with the smallest pressure.

"Ehrm, yes?" answered Mary, confused. Growling, Sherlock pulled at his hair, frustrated and very worried.

"It's too slow, It's too slow!" he called out, pacing the road as a car swerved around him angrily.

" _He needs something faster_ _…_ _a bike!_ _"_ came Robin's sudden voice, startling Mary. Robin had activated the bluetooth device just a second ago.

"What are you waiting for!" yelled Mary, concerned as she watched Sherlock pull his hair and pace. He stopped, however, as he saw just what he needed. A motor bike was coming down the street right at them. "This," he yelled back to Mary, stopping right in front of the way of the bike and putting out his arm, stopping the bike.

The driver had just enough time to slam on the breaks and before they knew it, Sherlock and Mary had confiscated the bike and were on their way.

As they drove, Sherlock calculated their route. It would take at least ten minutes from where they were now. Suddenly, Mary's phone pinged again.

Getting warmer Mr Holmes

You have about ten minutes

Sherlock cursed, and Mary relayed the information back to Robin.

"What does it mean? What are they going to do to him?"

"I don't know," came Sherlock's despondent answer.

" _I_ _'_ _m checking the surroundings now. There_ _'_ _s a congregation of people but it_ _'_ _s hard to see through the trees. You need to hurry._ _"_

Already tense, Sherlock revved the bike and increased their speed. Both Mary and the detective drove in fearful silence for what felt like hours be what was actually only minutes.

Just under eight minutes were left before Robin spoke again, this time her voice panicked.

" _Tell Sherlock he needs to find a shorter route. This one will take him ten minutes, but there_ _'_ _s a traffic block up ahead,_ _"_ cautioned Robin into Mary's ear.

"Sherlock! Rob says the road ahead has a traffic block on it!" yelled Mary through the wind, into Sherlock's ear. The detective cursed and grunted in acknowledgement.

"Where then?" he yelled back. He had the map in his head, but knew he could rely on Robin.

" _Turn in between the next two buildings! It will bring you to a foot path. Drive straight and then go down the stairs. You_ _'_ _ll hit the Mall. Head towards Buckingham. It_ _'_ _s not a road but your ETA will be reduced to 5 minutes,_ _"_ suggested Robin, and Mary relayed the information. Sherlock agreed and quickly changed routes, just as the traffic block came into sight.

Another message dinged on Mary's phone.

Better hurry

things are

hotting up here…

And just as she read it, she heard Robin's worried voice on the phone. _"_ _They_ _'_ _re cutting the time. Emergency services will be there right after you. I_ _'_ _ve called the fire dep. too. Mon dieu, Mary! It_ _'_ _s the 23th of June! C_ _'_ _est le_ _F_ _ê_ _te d_ _u_ _Saint-Jean_ _!_ _"_ she exclaimed, accidentally slipping into French. Still, Mary got the message and relays it to Sherlock, heart pounding. It was midsummer's night eve, and there were revellers about.

Another message arrives.

Stay of execution.

you've got two

more minutes

" _Your ETA_ _'_ _s three minutes!_ _"_ reminded Robin.

"We're not going to make it!" yelled Mary.

" _Straight line!_ _"_

Sherlock, already having calculated this, swerved into the pedestrian underpass, driving straight ahead. At the end, they drove up a flight of steps roughly. They could now see the church in front of them, just a block away.

" _They_ _'_ _re lighting a pyre! They are lighting a pyre!_ _"_ yells Robin, who had finally gotten a good CCTV camera angle to see what was happening in the park.

"Oh my god," gasped Mary, realizing what was happening. Sherlock, from Robin's message before, already knew but stepped on the gas even more.

What a shame

Mr Holmes.

John is a saint!

Sherlock could see now a group of people congregated around a pyre, cheering. It was already lit, people surrounding it, celebrating and completely oblivious to what, or who, they were burning.

…

Robin pulled at her hair and scratched at her limbs, grinding her teeth to keep the panic at bay as she rocked in her seat, still back at 221b. She blessed the police for being punctual for once and quickly saved all of the texts they had received for later analysis. She begged silently that John would be okay, that they could get to him quickly enough.

She felt sick, her face pale against the light of the computer screen. She was hanging on by a thread, while her thoughts whizzed about, betraying her. The most overbearing thought, however, was that she had failed. She had tried to help, to be active, but she couldn't do it. John was still burning.

…

Finally making it to the park, Sherlock slammed on the breaks, stopping the bike.

"Jump off," he yelled to Mary, who needed no instruction.

As they neared the group of people celebrating Internment, the cheers near the front, nearest to the pyre, turned to yells and gasps. A child screamed, and others finally noticed what was happening. It seemed someone, a little girl no less, had finally discovered the man in the fire.

Throughout the chaos, Sherlock pushed through the people.

"Move! Move! Move!" he yelled, dragging Mary along. "Move! Move!"

Gladly, realizing what was happening, people parted easily, letting Sherlock reach the pyre quickly.

"John!"

Faintly, through the screaming, fire and confusion, Sherlock could make out John. He had been trapped at the base of the pyre. Beaten, drugged, and tied up.

"John, get out! John!" yelled Mary behind Sherlock.

Hearing John scream again, Sherlock honed in on his location and lunged into the fire, pulling apart the base to reach his friend. His thick coat gladly protected the detective from the worst of the flames, even with the unbearable heat and smoke.

Finally, after some difficulty, John was finally pulled free as Sherlock dragged him away with Mary's help, people crowding around or watching, horrified.

John was bloody and burned, fading in and out of consciousness.

"John?!" yelled Sherlock, trying to wake him by patting his face.

Mary came over to John's side, crying with a hand over her mouth.

"John."

Holding John, Sherlock kept trying to rouse his friend. Softly, he called again.

"Hey, John."

Just then, they heard the sirens.

…

Robin was silent back in 221b, hearing everything but not able to do anything more from her side. Hoping that the ambulance would arrive soon, she didn't know what to do, or what to say. She began to shake.

…

 **Author** **'** **s Note:** Sorry that it's been a while, I've been overseas and haven't had a lot of time to look over my work, let alone get the internet to upload it.

Now, a few things to note. Firstly, sorry if there's any spelling mistakes. I'm trying to read everything over but I just can't get everything. Secondly, there's a lot more POV jumps in this chapter. Robin isn't someone to be in the thick of battle, most of the time and if she can choose not to be, so there will be a lot of jumping around in the future as well. I'll make it as clear as it can be, but basically think of Robin as mission control. Once she finds her control, anyway.

Finally, I know that in the show the pyre is for Guy Fawkes day, but due to the timeline, I've had to change a thing or two. This is an AU, after all. Events still follow the general plot of the story, but because I need to stretch out the timeline, there's going to be a few changes.

Anyway, thank you for reviewing to everyone that did, I really appreciate it.

Don't forget to review, comment, etc. I really appreciate it!

Cheers,

Elleari


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6 - No More**

…

Robin stared at her screen blankly, her heart beating irregularly in her chest. Sherlock and Mary had gotten to John just in time, pulling him out of the fire before it consumed him. She had her phone in one limp hand, now disconnected as she was no longer needed and the police had reached their destination. Her screen still showed the CCTV feed from the park just outside Saint James the Less church, now filled with officers and a fire truck, the ambulance having already left.

It was dark in Sherlock's flat. Robin had situated herself in John's chair again while she was helping save the good doctor, but now it was done and she wasn't needed. She knew she had to get to the hospital soon, once Mary texted where they were going, but she just couldn't bring herself to move right away.

The screen light from her computer illuminated her face, glasses hiding bloodshot eyes. Her whole body shook and she was pale. Her breath was coming out in short gasps. She tried to tell herself to slow down, trying to calm herself.

It wasn't working.

She had almost lost John. She had almost lost her closest friend, her confidant…the one who had saved her. She had almost lost him and she could barely stop it. He was hurt because she hadn't acted quickly enough. She had been too slow, too disconnected. She had failed.

Her eyes watered, really thinking through the events that had just occurred. Almost a month ago she had almost lost Sherlock. She was just starting to recover from her wounds. Now she had almost lost…John. There was a difference between Sherlock and John's importance to her, they were no longer linear, but they were parallel.

Mentally, she had only started to accept what had happened with the sniper. Physically, she was weary and sore. But what made her pause was her shaking hands.

They had never shaken before, no matter how stressful her work had become. Even when she was grief-stricken and half starved, her hands had still worked.

Shaking, fear, panic, it wasn't uncommon for Robin, but the Quartermaster never felt such things. At the computer, the Quartermaster was in control. Such weak behaviour was left for her secluded personal life. She was no stranger to panic, but her hands had always been steady as she worked. Now, however, they shook, the right more than the other, and she felt herself tense and shiver over and over again. She wasn't quite sure what she was feeling, but looking at her computer, she couldn't help but gulp in breaths of air. She felt nauseous and knew that she might lose her dinner soon.

She had almost lost Sherlock, barely getting there in time to save him.

She had almost lost John and she had been able to do so little. She wasn't even there for him now.

She was powerless in the real world and it scared the shit out of her.

Finally, she broke down. In the dark living room of 221b, Robin hunched over herself, grabbing whatever was in reach for comfort. John's cushion and even Sherlock's discarded robe, close enough to her grappling hands. The items smelt of them, of those she cared for. Curling into a tight ball, she sobbed quietly. She hid her face, and made no sound, but shook and gasped as every bad thought she had ever thought rushed over her. Memories of her family started to creep into the muddled mix, and Robin finally snapped. She silently wailed, her voice was not working correctly. She gasped and sobbed in that dark room.

' _This isn_ _'_ _t worth it. I_ _…_ _I can_ _'_ _t do it anymore. I can_ _'_ _t watch anyone else die. No more. I_ _'_ _m not strong enough,_ _'_ she thought after minutes of quietly sobbing. She felt her tears on her cheeks, knew that she was probably as red and raw as a skinned tomato. She sat there. Thinking. Plans and ideas from a time that she had hoped to put behind her started to creep back into her head, and her eyes grew clouded and dull. Weak, she chose the easiest thing to do. What she was used to doing.

Eventually, she stood up warily and discarded the pillow and robe she had clutched to so tightly.

' _I can_ _'_ _t do it anymore._ _'_

…

"How are you feeling?" asked Sherlock, watching his friend as he lay in a hospital bed.

" Yeah, not bad. Bit ... smoked," answered John, is humour falling a bit flat.

"Right."

"Last night – who did that? And why did they target me?"

"I don't know."

"Is it someone trying to get to you through me? Is it something to do with this terrorist thing you talked about?"

"I don't know. I can't see the pattern. It's too nebulous."

"And Robin, what does she think?"

"She can't get anything from the evidence. She is as stumped as I…begrudgingly, am. She…"

"What?" asked John, his face furrowing.

"Where is she now anyway?"

"She's shaken, she sounded shaken up last time she contacted me. All of this I think is finally catching up to her. My arrival, Moran, getting hurt…"

"She'll be okay, Sherlock. If you're worried about her-"

"I'm not."

"Just give her time."

"She shouldn't be alone."

…

The doctor in the emergency unit had reassured Mary that John would make a full recovery. He had some minor burns, with one that was slightly worse on his thigh, which had been closer to where the fire had started. None were past a second-degree burn thankfully. He had inhaled quite a bit of smoke and gas fumes, but he would recover. He would be released the following morning after some more observation, just in case the smoke caused any pneumonia and he would be given the standard set of pain management medicine, antibiotics, and burn cream.

It was several hours later, now the early morning, since Sherlock and Mary had gone with the ambulance to the hospital with John, but they didn't seem to care. Mrs Hudson had arrived not too long ago, followed by a silent and pale Robin.

The small group had sat in the waiting room patiently, slightly disturbed that they had to once again wait for a friend of theirs. Mary had been tired and slept for a bit but had stayed up for as long as she could, grumpy with herself for not staying vigilant. She had been palpably relieved when the doctor had come back with the good news and once Mrs Hudson arrived they had chatted and murmured quietly to each other.

Sherlock, on the other hand, had paced up and down the length of the little waiting room, high-strung, his worry for his best friend apparent as well. He had, once Mrs Hudson and Robin arrived, sat down for a bit, but looked extremely distracted or in his Mind Palace. No one bothered him.

Robin, too, was high-strung, but she was solemn. She sat quietly in a chair and didn't move, staring at the opposite wall deep in thought. She sat a few seats from everyone, angling herself away from Sherlock especially, not wanting anyone to notice her. It worked.

It was almost six in the morning when Mary finally settled everything with the doctors and suggested that the rest of them went home. Mrs Hudson, as motherly as always, had decided to stay a bit longer, but Mary was adamant that Sherlock and Robin go home, knowing that they had had little sleep.

Sherlock agreed with some resistance and left after Robin, who had given everyone a swift goodbye and exited the waiting room stiffly, immediately. As soon as Sherlock left the room, however, he saw Robin leaning against a wall at the end of the corridor. Curious, he approached her.

…

Robin had been leaning against the wall, catching herself after leaving the waiting room finally. She hated it. She hated hospital. She hated them _especially_ if someone she cared for was in it. But she also hated herself at the moment. She had seen the odd looks Mrs Hudson and Mary had given her as she left. She knew she had been too stiff, too formal, but she couldn't help it.

She wasn't strong enough any more.

"Robin," the baritone voice of Sherlock greeted, clearly curious. Robin hadn't prepared herself for company, just a bit too raw, and gasped as she was startled by his presence.

"Sorry," apologized the detective, as he hadn't wanted to scare the hacker in front of him. She looked up at him, pained and thoroughly annoyed. Robin slumped back against the wall, her body defeated. She tensed, however, when she noticed Sherlock observe her, his steely eyes scanning her quickly. _'_ _God, not now. Just leave me be._ _'_

"Ah-uh…I-I…I'm going to have to leave y-you a-all for…a bit," Robin started in a rush, hoping to distract the detective.

"I got a job as the Quartermaster…earlier today. I wasn't going to take it, since we have the terrorists to worry about, but with all the work piling up, I need to work alone for a while. An important…benefactor asked me for a favour and I can't say no. I might even have to leave London for a bit, depending on where this goes." It wasn't all complete and utter lies. She had technically been contacted by someone for her help this morning, but then again she was contacted almost everyday for favours. She just needed a scapegoat.

"I'll be in contact with any perten-" she tried to continue, but was immediately cut off by Sherlock.

"Utter rubbish," he spat, now angry. Of course he saw through her lies. Robin's eyes widened, flinching away. She should have known better. A deep hurt settled within her, and she saw it reflected in his eyes briefly. Robin sighed.

"Right…pardon…I didn't want to lie. Should have known it wouldn't work."

They stared at each other for a while. Robin was simply trying to remember as much of Sherlock as she could, while the detective deduced her.

He seemed to find something in a moment, but it took another for him to react. He stared blankly at her before frowning, to which Robin frowned right back. She wondered worriedly what he had deduced this time.

"You…do you…you blame yourself for John's injured?" questioned Sherlock cautiously, for once sounding unsure of his own deduction. Robin cursed internally. Of course he would see it. And damn him for not knowing when to leave her alone.

Robin avoided his eyes, pushing off from the wall to face him, although she kept her demeanour and eyes downcast.

She felt him lift her chin with a hand and she couldn't avoid looking into his almost unnaturally clear eyes. Coloured like sea glass, but not at all as foggy.

She sighed heavily, but relented.

"I…I…it's not quite that, Sherlock. It's, well…I couldn't do enough. I had to w-watch someone else close to me be put in danger and…and I failed at protecting them," she explained slowly, painfully, as her eyes began to sting. Sherlock looked befuddled for a moment but, unexpectedly, he softened after a moment, again showing a side that was altogether new and unexplored.

"I've seen the results of inaction too many times, Robin, but I can assuredly say that what you did mattered. You directed us and saved us valuable time. You were first to react and first to organize a rescue. I don't know what troubles you now…" he ended, not knowing what to say next. He clearly wasn't used to comforting others. Robin wondered what compelled him to now.

"But you don't know how it feels to have to sit behind a screen and watch people you care for get gunned down one by one!" snapped Robin back. Her right hand was shaking lightly again, hurting more than usual.

Sherlock was silent for some times, his expression guarded but thoughtful.

"Maybe not behind a screen…" he corrected gently, and Robin noticed a flash of pain and anger cross his eyes. She cringed, cursing her tongue. Of course she didn't realize what she was saying…he knew…

"Sherlock…I'm sorry," she tried, but her voice was small.

Finally, his eyes widened when he came to his conclusion.

"You plan to leave us," he stated, referring to John and the small circle of friends Robin had gained from knowing the doctor. He referred to himself. Robin watched his expression become pained for a second again, fighting something, before his eyes hardened.

"Well…that is…idiotic!" he stated boldly, and Robin blustered right back. How dare he think that her decision was stupid! It wasn't made lightly! He just didn't understand…he couldn't unless she told him.

"Tais-toi!"

Emotionally drained already, she reverted back to her numb state she had been in before in the waiting room. The numb state let her articulate things at least marginally better than any of her other emotional states that were currently available to her.

"Sherlock, I'll tell you this only once and you are not to repeat this information to anyone without my consent under pain of death, _comprenez-vous?_ " she asked, speaking quietly and slowly, gaging his reaction. His expression, of course, turned inappropriately curious, but she didn't blame him.

"You know, from when I was hospitalized, that I have no next of kin. I no longer have a mother, a father, a big sister, a twin brother, a little brother…aunts, uncles, grand-parents…great-grand-parents. Nephews, nieces…cousins…they're all gone. You're right Sherlock, a traditional famille Québécois is normally very big, and mine was no exception. I…I don't know much about distantly related family, but the main branches were always very close. I have none of that any more," she stated, her hands shaking again. Robin's voice held strong, however, determined to get this out of Sherlock's thick head. He seemed, at the moment, to be in the middle of processing. It went against her privacy policy…but she trusted him.

"They were taken from me…and I learnt to live with no-one. I was fine…not happy…but fine. And now…now, I almost lost you and John. I'm not strong enough to go through that again."

Robin paused, not quite sure where to go from there. She wanted to leave, but at the very least she owed Sherlock an explanation. She needed to get her mind in order. John had helped her get away from her isolation but she was going too fast. She needed time for herself so that she could figure out what she needed to do. Maybe it wasn't the best time, but maybe it was.

The man in front of her was stoically quiet. He stood stone still and listened with a sort of apathetic expression. Robin, internally, hated it and wanted to slap it off his face, but she knew it was for the better. This was how Sherlock was supposed to be. She should have the same expression on her face. She could have managed it once…but maybe not now.

"I know your work often puts you in the line of danger, that I can't avoid…but I can avoid direct contact with you or anyone else so that I can at least live in some semblance of peace. I need normality right now. You are a dear friend, and I need time at least to get over the fact that you have such a dangerous job. I need to tell myself that it isn't like last time," Robin continued. She wasn't aware, as she was looking down as she spoke, but Sherlock's eyes widened as he began to realize what she was implying. They were her family now. He was family now. She loved John like a brother. Mary was her first close female friend. And Sherlock, although he had entered the picture much later, was now someone she both admired and cared about. She had to admit it now, she cared for Sherlock, romantically.

"I'm not strong enough…I can't see either of you hurt…or anyone else…hurt again. I try to help…but it's like I'm just observing at times. There's glass in the way. I've…I've decided to keep some distance from everyone for a while…to calm down. I…I just can't see anyone hurt anymore," finished Robin, whispering weakly. She wasn't sure if she'd stay away forever, but she wasn't strong enough to watch John recover.

She knew that they had watched over her while she was in the hospital, but she couldn't do the same. She couldn't stay here, waiting for her best friend to wake up. She was good for one thing, and that was hacking, and that's what she knew. She was selfish, maybe, but she needed to be healthy for them too.

She waited for Sherlock to respond, averting her eyes and observing the corridor they were in. It was dim, though not eerily so. There were charts and signs along the wall and it looked like any other hospital hallway…and she hated it.

Practically, she knew she was being silly, but she needed the time.

"You do not like hospitals," Sherlock observed monotony, confusing Robin. Was that really the first thing the was going to say? Of course it was. And of course he was reading her mind.

"…No…no I don't," replied Robin cautiously, now shifting back and forth.

"And I'm supposing you will continue to at least work as an informant," asked Sherlock again, still stoic and nonplussed.

"I…I will work as Quartermaster. I won't ignore the cases…and I'm not going to ignore Moran…but I'm going to stay detached."

"And that will work for you?" inquired Sherlock again, sounding just the tiniest but sceptical. Robin knew he doubted if she could stay away. She also knew that she probably couldn't stay away either…she'd felt what love felt like again and it was addictive. Sighing, she looked straight into Sherlock's eyes and memorized his face. It was her turn to try and observe him.

Unbeknownst to the two, they had moved closer to each other throughout their conversation and Robin now stood just a foot away from Sherlock, hugging herself and ignoring the aching of her shoulder.

"No…I'm not okay with this. But it's the only think I can think of," she replied honestly, knowing that lying to the detective was useless. "I just need some time. I think I might actually take on some of the commissions that have been piling up for me. But I'm not strong enough…physically and mentally, to continue on like I was before."

Sherlock finally seemed to break his icy gaze, although it turned pensive instead. His brow furrowed as it normally did, and Robin wondered how she had gotten used to his, in reality, very odd behaviours. _'_ _Mostly because your own aren_ _'_ _t much better._ _'_

"I will admit that at this moment you are physically weaker than I'd like any of my…friends…or associates to be. It would be only logical that you take time off from running about to finish your physiotherapy and overall recovery. I do not…however…recognize you as a weak person. You are, by far, one of the more intelligent people I've ever met…Thank goodness for that. Furthermore, from what you've told me, you've had a very harrowing life so I am able to appreciate your ability to continue. To feel the need for…time off…John would say that it is perfectly expected after recent events and I must agree. You are tired, that is all. Contact me when you are sufficiently recovered," analyzed Sherlock, in his normal systematic baritone. Robin shouldn't have expected much else. Still, his compliments, even if they were 'matter of fact', still touched her and she couldn't help but fluster lightly.

"Yes…a-alright. Please inform John and Mary of my decision. I'll…I'll be in contact with any pertinent information soon. You know how to contact me…if you really need something."

And with that Robin turned and left, not waiting to see if Sherlock had anything else to say.

She wouldn't let him have the last word, not this time. She shrugged her coat tighter, wishing internally that it was Sherlock's robe but screaming at herself for thinking about it. Soon enough, she was out of the hospital and in a cab, homeward bound.

It was all simple. She would take a break, however long that took. Or maybe, if it took too long, she would simply leave. But at the very least her nerves would be settled and she could recover in peace, thinking about what she needed now.

…

 **Author** **'** **s Notes:**

So, yeah. Robin's mental health is very important to me, and I've got to fix her. Eventually. I kind of made her have a sad backstory, so she's got to get better.

So sad. Also, yah! Robin likes Sherlock! Robin is not an idiot and admits it!

Remember to review, comment, favourite, etc. Thank you!

Cheers,

Elleari


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7 -** **…** **Or Maybe Not**

…

It was dark in Robin's flat, her blinds were drawn and it was the middle of the night. For once, the hacker had opted out of staying up at night to work and instead had turned in for an early night. The problem was, even though Robin lay there in her comfortable bed with her summer jim jams, she couldn't fall asleep.

It was mid-August, and the weather had begun to slowly cool.

Robin had spent the morning working, and then the afternoon taking her daily walk, this time all the way to Battersea Park, which was over an hour away from her flat to begin with. She was tired, but she couldn't stop her thoughts.

She blamed a text she had received from Sherlock. The wording had been just so slightly different from their normally professional style that it had struck Robin somehow. It was longer than normal and included mention of how everyone was doing.

She had felt hollow suddenly after reading the text. It had been a few weeks since distancing herself from everyone and, although they respected her boundaries, something was still off.

She had done a lot of thinking, trying to figure out what to do. If it was like the movies, she could alway be mission control…but Sherlock didn't need that. She couldn't stay detached and still look after those she now cared for.

But, leaving them was proving to be hard. She had told herself that she was fine, being alone again. She still had minimal contact…like long distance friends, but no Skype. She had thought she was okay.

That one text, and now Robin was lonely.

She hadn't felt like this in years.

…

The first week Robin had spent recovering, her shoulder still raw and sore. New skin itched and stretched oddly, and her ear was taking some time to get used to. It had recovered about half of its capability, and Robin hoped that it would improve with more time. Although the bottom of the ear was mostly intact, her upper ear was warped, as if a jagged knife had cut it to an awkward point. But, it would be okay. She could wear a prosthetic if she wanted to hide it or cover her ear with hair. It wasn't bad at all. She'd just get used to it.

She had spent the next few weeks working.

The peace lasted for three months, which, honestly was longer than Robin had thought possible.

She spent the rest of June, July and August trying to get outside as much as possible. She even went away for a week to the countryside, something she had never done before.

Robin wanted to get better, but she had to do it on her terms. She couldn't get a therapist, mostly because they would hold a record of her, and so relied on herself to figure out what she needed. Peace and quiet helped, and soon she didn't have to constantly tell herself that there was no one out to get her. She used to love going outside, as a child, but since she had been alone it had been too dangerous. She had isolated herself.

Robin remembered running around in birch forests, with linden trees and maples scattered around. She would watch the silvery leaves flutter in the gentle wind as she ran from her siblings. She had loved playing hide-and-seek. She was particularly good at hiding as she had known the whole forest by heart. When she would be done running, she would spend hours collecting rocks and seeds, creating patterns and showing whatever she made to her family. Nature was a happy place for her, but it had become bittersweet.

Now, however, the well-kept gardens of Hyde and Regent's Park, with its ivy and moss and old oak trees, gave her the comfort she needed.

She thanked England for being a temperate climate. It was never too hot, even in the middle of July, so her scars never itched horribly. The rain bothered her more now, again due to the new skin, but she dealt with it. She was just glad that she could recover in one of the kinder seasons.

Robin had been working hard at her physiotherapy sessions, the only thing she consented to do and was almost done. Mr Forester, too, had kept her eating. Without the stress of…well…death…Robin ate more and slept better.

Moran was always at the back of her mind, but she actively worked to find him and that would ease her worry. He was the one hiding now. They were hunting.

The plan was to keep her life as simple as possibly, hopefully continuing the trend she had established over the last three months. The plan would have worked, too, if Robin hadn't forgotten to factor in one variable.

Sherlock.

…

Robin was enjoying her evening cup of tea after dinner. She was wearing lighter pants, one of her overly large shirts, and a cotton robe. She was comfy. She felt safe. She was home. She'd finished her stretches for the day and Mr Forester, who she couldn't keep away no matter what she said, had checked on her healing injuries as instructed by her doctor.

She had spent the day working on a commission for a security company, trying to hack past their firewalls and new security protocols. It was fun, honestly, and had taken a few minutes longer than she had anticipated. Robin had told Sherlock that she would take up some of her own work again, which she had begun to neglect, and she wasn't lying. Still, Moran was always on her mind.

Robin sent anything she could to Sherlock that might be relevant to his cases, but honestly there wasn't much. Moran was still in the wind and Lord Moran was still boring, and it seemed like the terrorist plot had stalled for the time being. Lord Moran, no matter where Robin searched, turned out to be a mild-mannered peer of the realm. With, of course, a history with North Korea. But even his spying, no matter how well hidden, was found after a few weeks of searching by the expert hacker. The thing was, the spying for North Korea was very…organized. Robin found records of who Lord Moran had spied on, who he reported to, and how far the information went. There simply wasn't a connection between the sniper-left-tenant and the politician-spy.

Next, with admittedly some difficulty, Robin had looked into the texts received by Sherlock when John had been kidnaped. She didn't know if it was connected to the terrorists or Moran. She did know that whoever they were, they were connected enough to spy on Sherlock while he drove throughout the city. Sadly, they were routed back through an infinite web of signal stations and IP addresses. She could only confirm that the text came from a phone that was probably in England, if not northern Europe.

When Robin had shown Sherlock, he had noted that the sender was probably not English as their texting tells indicated a unique short form and syncopation not normal for primarily english speaking people. She noted down the quirks and hoped that she'd eventually have something to compare them with. Sherlock would know more about that so she let him handle the rest of that line of investigation. For now.

As she had hit another wall in her work, Robin soon turned to other projects. The Quartermaster began to pop up more and more. Between reading about the latest political scandals in Russia, the unrest in Syria, the police brutality problem in America, and hacking into the corrupt's bank accounts, the Quartermaster had been busy.

Apart from work, she'd not seen or heard from Sherlock, or Mycroft really, since she had left.

Mary, who had started occasionally walking with Robin in the park, would update Robin about John, sometimes Sherlock, and vice verse. They would talk extensively about weddings and what they had seen on the telly. It was mostly rubbish, and neither woman enjoyed talking about their family it seemed, so Robin enjoyed being distracted.

John would try to catch her as well, but he was actually quite busy, which Robin understood. The clinic business was apparently booming. He called a lot but hadn't visited much, only a handful of times. She was glad that he wasn't…bothering…her, even if he really wouldn't, honestly. She had been surprised, however, when she had met John the first time in a while. For some ungodly reason, the man was trying to grow a moustache.

Why?

Regardless of facial hair, however, she missed them all…terribly. Especially John, her dearest friend. It had been three good months, more or less alone, but she missed them.

Robin sighed as she sat by her flat's little window, looking down on the street below. The pavement was not particularly busy at the moment, but Robin enjoyed watching the few people rush pass, heads down and focused on their task.

Everything was nice and quite, peaceful, until there came a rattling from her front door. Suddenly tense, Robin cautiously got up and moved to grab her nearby broom. Her mind began to go through multiple scenarios, from a stray cat to a mass murderer. Shaking, she told herself to not be silly, that to calm down.

She'd locked the fire escape window tightly since she could no longer use that as her primary entrance, and now it seemed that her previous paranoia was catching up with her. _'_ _I knew I shouldn_ _'_ _t have unblocked the front door! It_ _'_ _s so easy to get in through there!_ _'_ she thought to herself agitatedly, ready to give Mr Forester a piece of her mind for suggesting the change. Still, anyone entering would have had to go through the front door downstairs, where Mr Forester was. Robin briefly hoped that the old man was okay.

Robin frowned. She debated whether it was worth calling the police. If it was a burglar, they were making a right hash of being discreet.

One of the few problems of not actually existing was that Robin often had to avoid authorities and official records, and she was in no mood to file a police report. Also, why wasn't the robber robbing the shop downstairs? She would have heard that first. It was a lot easier to find.

Slowly, she rounded the corner, trying to get a peak of her perpetrator. For a brief moment she wondered who would try to pick her locks, if not a robber? Suddenly, the lock gave on the old door and it swung open, revealing the guilty party. Seeing who it was, she slumped in relief as her stomach and heart tightened. It was Sherlock. Of course it was bloody Sherlock Holmes.

' _I should have known,_ _'_

"Sherlock?!" she whispered harshly, as if she was trying to preserve the last sense of quiet she had. It failed. Her peace, at least at this moment, was broken.

Robin was quietly elated to see Sherlock, for at least she knew he was fine.

Halfway through the door, the detective froze, hesitated, before gruffly pulling himself up from his crouching position. Tools still in hand, he didn't look at the confused woman in front of him. He brushed off his coat and straightened his scarf.

Robin had to frown at his antics. She knew he could be quiet and discreet, but he was practically comical in this moment.

"You know, I do believe your lock is rusty," he commented dryly, as if this were an extremely important piece of information.

"Or maybe you're the one that's rusty," muttered Robin in reply, silently conceding that it was an old door.

"Yes, well, admittedly you can't just call someone to change it, can you?" replied Sherlock, ignoring Robin's jibe.

Putting down her broom, Robin straightened herself, patting down her messy hair unconsciously and fixing her glasses. She was now conflicted. She had told him to stay away. He had promised. She didn't know if she was ready…but would a short visit, for whatever reason, hurt? Mary and John had seen her before. He had left her alone for three months, after all.

He wasn't looking at her yet, instead taking his coat and scarf off and placing it on the hanger as if he lived there. He had done the same thing when he had resided there, not too long ago. He seemed comfortable, at least, but he still avoided looking at Robin.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, wanting to get right to the point. She could rely on Sherlock being straightforward. Robin knew that she didn't have to read into his words when he spoke to her, more often than not. She didn't have to read to much into their interactions, or her reactions.

Her stomach fluttering, she waited for his reply. But a this, Sherlock once again froze. Finally, he looked up, straight at Robin, and paused.

He stared at her, and it looked like he was still processing what he should say. His breathing seemed to shorten and his eyes looked bewildered. He was mesmerized.

…

Observing Robin now, for the first time in three months, she had changed. Her figure was still tall and thin, but she had gained mass, both in fat and muscle. Her waist had begun to fill in. Her collar bone, which was visible due to her large shirt, was no longer skeletal. Her face was no longer sunken in, although her nose, brow, and jaw shape were still characteristically sharp. She was still herself, but healthier.

Sherlock felt a great sense of satisfaction sweep over him. He knew now that at the very least these months in isolation had helped the woman in front of him. He had debated with himself whether returning to past habits would actually hinder Robin, returning her to a state before John.

He didn't notice Robin's confused gaze as he unconsciously continued to stare.

Although hard to see in the dimmed lighting of the evening, he could see that she was no longer ashen, but her fair skin had gained a healthy splattering of freckles. The little pigments ran across her shoulders and back, up her neck, and across her cheeks. Her hair, still as black as midnight, was healthier too, and Sherlock noticed that she had opted to keep the nape of her neck buzzed. It suited her. Her eyes were brighter. She was luminous. She glowed, finally.

…

"Sherlock?" asked Robin in a whisper. The longer he stared at her, the more flustered she was becoming. A light blush crept up her neck onto her cheeks and she hoped that it wasn't too noticeable. She huffed, hands on hips, and glared back at the detective. She wouldn't let him affect her like this.

Finally, it looked like Sherlock caught himself, shifted a bit, and then cleared his throat.

' _I didn_ _'_ _t change that much, did I?_ _'_ wondered Robin silently, habitually correcting her glasses, even though they were already straight. She waited patiently for the man in front of her. He had looked startled for a moment before a happy - yes, Sherlock Holmes was exhibiting signs of happiness over something other than a case - look gripped him. She smiled warmly, well, at least he was happy. Still…

' _Did he even have reason for coming? Why is he acting like this?_ _'_

Finally, Sherlock seemed to grab some gumption and straightened.

"John is doing well, although he coughs more easily than normal…he wished to convey that he and Mary have finally decided a date for the wedding, but would only tell you when you returned. Isn't proposing supposed to come first? He wanted to come but Mary dissuaded him…this time. He…misses you. Mary and Mrs Hudson repeat the sentiment. And it has almost been two weeks since you last spoke to any of us. I've taken up some side cases, since the terrorist group…which honestly I'm beginning to think is imaginary, is taking too long."

Here Sherlock paused for a breath.

"I see that physiotherapy is going well. You still haven't regained full function in your ear, it seems. Mycroft has recommended a specialist, but I don't recommend it. Dr. Stern is too expensive for the quality, or lack there of, of his services. I have a list for you to peruse, instead," delivered Sherlock, as succinctly as rambling could be.

Robin hadn't wanted and update on how everyone was doing…but she appreciated it nonetheless. Still though, this was nothing he couldn't have texted her.

"Sherlock, why are you _here_?" she repeated, still not understanding. She was getting a bit agitated, Although she appreciated his efforts and maintaining some sort of friendship, something very unlike him, she didn't know if she wanted it. She still wasn't sure, her arguments by now going around in circles. Him suddenly showing up after three months was not particularly welcome, especially when she hadn't had the time to prepare.

Sherlock was quiet, still, until he slowly swayed, as if his body had made the decision to move towards Robin before he recognized what he wanted. As he approached, he reached out for Robin, something that she noticed immediately and was prepared for and for once, didn't flinch. He held her shoulders first, and stared down at her.

"I-I do not fully know why, but I was curious. I…I can now see that the break truly was good for you. Your health has greatly improved," admitted Sherlock. He was behaving quite out of character, but then again, he had begun to change slightly ever since he had returned from the dead. He was still the stalwart, calculating detective, but he was no longer as cold-hearted as he once presumed. He might still be hard-hearted and logical, but he was weathered, worn at times even, and had conceded that friends were important. He cared for only few, but he cared. And now Robin was seeing that new, completely alien side to him. But that was Sherlock, and Robin accepted that about her friend.

Sherlock paused again, unconsciously letting his hands settle on Robin's elbows as his thumbs drew small circles. Frowning in thought, he recounted his thinking process.

"My parents called…"he started, which caused Robin to raise her eyebrows, bewildered.

"They never call, which is preferable. But since the fall it seems like I can no longer avoid them. Their mention of family reminded me of what you spoke of at the hospital. John has spoken much on the subject of friendship, but it was an otherwise ignored concept for me. During my…leave…I learnt that to have friends means to miss them when away. I missed John…horribly. Now, it has been three months and it recently occurred to me that…your presence was missed as well. For the sake of our friends, I will not let you simply disappear. You will recover, and you will come back."

Robin didn't know what to say. She struggled to find words, mostly because she really didn't know how she should react. Should she be happy that they all cared so much? Indignant that Sherlock was trying to control her? Or…well…Sherlock was showing, in some convoluted way, that he cared. He wasn't looking at her and his language was stiff, but the…the sentiment…was communicated. He had actually taken the initiative and attempted to get her back. He had missed her friendship.

Still, she didn't want to go back to cases yet, not full time anyway. And she couldn't just sit back and watch if Sherlock or John were injured again. He wanted her around because she was now a good friend, but she needed to keep some distance for the same reason.

The problem had been, she had figured out after hours of pondering, was that everything had happened too suddenly. She had dealt with it best she could, but her life had gone from one extreme to the next and she couldn't cope after a while. She had also invested too much, forgetting about her own work and health. The injury was the last straw. She'd do anything for Sherlock and John, but after a while even they had realized that that was destructive for her. She was loyal, kind even, yes, but she also had little regard for her own health and safety.

It wasn't like Sherlock's disregard, no, he would still fight to live. Robin, at the time, both wouldn't and couldn't fight for herself. She didn't want to even think that maybe she didn't want to fight for herself. It was a poisonous mentality in that environment.

She had needed the break to learn to care for herself again.

Robin sputtered, trying to figure out what to say. The first bit was unintelligible, but then she finally found some words.

"Sherlock, that's not…I can't just sit back and…" she began, trying to explain herself and ignore how he was so close.

"You will come back," he repeated, determined.

"I'll help as m-"

"You will come back. We both know you are missed, and you missed us," pushed Sherlock, his tone now more forceful.

"Sherlo-"

Robin was cut off. Sherlock had moved his arms up, now cradling her head in his large palms. His fingers lightly brushed through the short buzzed hair at the base of her skull, intrigued. They stared at each other. It was similar to the time at his flat, before Mycroft had so rudely walked in.

"Why?" she asked quietly, confused and flabbergasted, her stomach tightening. Watching him, an odd creaking noise escaped her, which seemed to startle and then amuse Sherlock. Huffing, she stared exasperatedly at him.

Raising her arms slowly, she grasped Sherlock's hands, still at her neck, but did not immediately pull them off.

"It's getting late, Sherlock. Although I'd love to question you about your parents, which I'm pretty sure is a novelty in and of itself, I am tired and still taking light medication. I…will do my best to come back…but understand that this isn't something I can just…decide. You live a hard life, and I'm probably not strong enough to stand by-" again, she didn't get to finish.

Sherlock had leaned in while she was talking, something she hadn't noticed. He was relaxed, his hands still at her neck and his eyes steady. Suddenly Robin felt Sherlock's lips on hers. It was the lightest brush, barely anything.

Robin's cheeks immediately caught fire, as her eyes became like saucers. She could feel his breath on her, warm, and she was acutely aware of their position.

Sherlock pulled back and stared at Robin for a second, maybe to see if she'd protest. Her heart was beating so quickly, but she wasn't scared. She didn't know what to do, really.

Seeing that Robin was okay, Sherlock leaned in again, this time kissing her more securely. It was still chaste, but it was warm, although Robin's lips were chapped, and the sensation was enough for both of them.

It was thought out, not caused by a sudden urge or illogical thought. The hug at the hospital, the first of Sherlock's outbursts, had been clumsy and brought upon by anger. This was…something else Robin didn't understand. Her stomach was twisting, falling and flying all at the same time. Her cheeks were warm with a blush, and she was trying not to smile.

Robin closed her eyes and responded, just as lightly. He smelt of old books and cardamom. He tasted faintly of peppermint tea, as if he had just drank it.

The kiss was brief but at least Sherlock wasn't pushing her away suddenly. He did, however, eventually pull back, staring at her again. He looked confused. Robin knew she was confused. They were both really, really, confused.

Eventually, Sherlock broke the silence as he cleared his throat.

"Why?" she whispered out, fixing her glasses again. A sudden gust of fear gripped her, other motives starting to race through her mind.

But Sherlock didn't respond, and he was back to his stoic demeanour.

"Come back. You obviously want to stop restricting yourself, and you have gained enough control. You don't need to go on any cases, you don't need to be constantly around, but…visit. John misses you and needs help with proposing plans, seems he wants to try again soon. And I'll be damned if I have to help him," he explained, stepping back and straightening his back. He had his arms behind his back and he was as proper as usual.

He hadn't answered her answer, however, and the fear inside her grew. Her knees started to tremble as she furrowed her brows. Sherlock didn't seem to notice her change of attitude.

"Why did you just…k-kiss me? Ar-are you interested…in…m-me?" she asked, her voice trembling just the smallest bit. She tried to hide it, but she couldn't help feel scared, and awkward, and embarrassed. She cared for him, and if he had just…if he had just kissed her to try and manipulate her to come back, then that would hurt. A lot.

Sherlock's eyes widened, looking bewildered for a moment.

"No! Of course not," he replied immediately, his voice sharp and cutting. It hurt Robin more, although she tried to hide it.

Robin nodded, mutely.

"Then…why?" she whispered out, hesitant. Sherlock didn't respond, but he stiffened and his gaze turned cold. Robin paled, her fear seemingly confirmed. He had tried to manipulate her back. No matter his intentions, whether he actually did miss her or not, she couldn't stand for it. She began to tremble and she looked away. She closed her eyes and her first clenched, trying to stem off the anger she now felt. She shouldn't feel anger. She was never angry! But she loathed being manipulated, especially from someone she like and she trusted.

Robin suddenly felt two hands on her shoulders, but before Sherlock could do anything, Robin flinched away from his touch.

"No. Y-You need to go…now," she bit out, wanting him to leave. She needed time to cool down. In the back of her head, her mind still tried to work out logical conclusions. Maybe he didn't know that what he had done was bad, he was otherwise oblivious to these things, after all.

"Robin-" began Sherlock, his voice worried. Robin ignored him, still not looking at the detective.

"If you touch me again, if you ever _think_ of manipulating or ordering me around again, I will wipe every trace of you from this earth." Robin said this slowly, although her voice trembled slightly. Both of them knew she was good on her promise.

"Wha-" Sherlock tried to interrupt, but didn't get anywhere. Robin didn't notice Sherlock's expression of understanding, finally seeing that what he had done was definitely not good.

"You _do not_ kiss someone to try and get them to come back. You kiss people because you have feelings for them! It's not that hard to understand! Even I do! Y-You just had to ask…"

There was a long stretch of silence where neither of them looked at each other. Robin was hurt, really hurt. But, as if it was only a small sparkler, bright but short-lived, her anger was already fizzing out. She was still agitated, but she didn't know how to be angry. She was, however, sad. He just had to ask. He had said that everyone, including him, missed her. She had never been missed before.

"Would you please come back?" asked Sherlock finally, although his voice was weak and he struggled with his apology.

Robin sighed, slumping her shoulders. She didn't know if she should anymore, but this wasn't all about Sherlock. John, Mary, Mrs Hudson all missed her, and they were important. She would spend any time that she could with them, no matter the danger.

But concerning Sherlock himself, she really needed him to go now. She felt like crying and she didn't want him to see.

Looking at him now, Robin shifted awkwardly, her body pulling in on itself as she crossed her arms and hunched. She wasn't glowing anymore.

"Just go, Sherlock. Now. I'll think about it."

"Yes," Sherlock said brusquely.

Robin nodded and watched as he turned sharply to leave. He hesitated at the door, only for a millisecond, before grabbing his coat and scarf and vanishing down the stairs.

She left to go to her room.

She sat on her bed, once again alone, and processed. She frowned and growled to herself, feeling resentful and confused. Finally, she sighed and rubbed her eyes. She cared for him, but Sherlock had betrayed her trust, hurt her feelings, and manipulated her.

But she missed everyone, Sherlock was right in the end. She was, for the most part, in control now. She thought of her family, briefly. A happy memory.

It was better to collect as many happy memories with those she cared about, her friends, while she could.

Oh, but screw Sherlock.

…

 **Author** **'** **s Note:**

I'm in an airport!

Thank you to **Kitsune's Den** , **Mynean Rebel** and **bored411** for reviewing!

Kissy kiss! The thing happened!

Rate, review, comment, thank you very much!

Cheers,

Ellerai


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8 - August, September, October**

…

"Sherlock! Stop bloody moping and clean up your bloody mess! Mrs Hudson can smell the sulphur from her flat!" yelled John exasperatedly.

Only sad violin music could be heard coming from 221b Baker Street.

…

Robin ignored Sherlock for the next week, which was easy enough since he was ignoring her as well. They didn't communicate, and when John finally took notice, neither of them replied with anything concrete.

Robin didn't want to see Sherlock because although she knew she liked him, really liked him, she figured that if she avoided him, the 'crush' would just go away. He had hurt her, and she didn't want to deal with it.

Sherlock avoided her because he didn't want to admit to what he had done. He was also probably very confused, slightly embarrassed, and too proud to think of it.

Still, the stalemate didn't last long. Mycroft eventually was the one to break the silence as he had, once again, another 'lead' in the terrorist case.

Robin had begrudgingly admitted that she did need to help, but she still avoided Sherlock the best she could.

Eventually, however, the pain started to subside. Her heart still fluttered and clenched at the thought of the detective, as she still cared for him, but she was able to ignore it. Ever the pacifist, Robin began to respond to Sherlock's texts.

Again, Sherlock's ability to ignore and forget certain things allowed them to go back to how they had been…for the most part. Life went on.

…

"Sherlock?" called a timid voice up the stairs of 221 Baker Street.

"Sherlock, John said you were still sulking! I-I thought some fingers might…cheer you up?" asked Molly Hooper. The pathologist had been contacted by John as a last resort to get Sherlock out of his funk. It seemed that even though he was working again, something was making the detective somber and pouty. Between sad violin music and random experiments at two in the morning, Mrs Hudson was at her wits end, calling in reinforcements.

It had gotten to the point where even having dead body parts in the flat was better than the sad screeching and scratching of the violin.

Making it up to the top of the stairs, Molly knocked on the door. Even she wasn't willing to deal with Sherlock at the moment, her thoughts on who was waiting for her back home.

Suddenly, the door opened a crack to reveal the menacing figure of the detective. Taller than the pathologist, with light filtering in behind him, casting his face in shadow, Molly couldn't catch the bedraggled look or the dark circles under Sherlock's eyes.

"Here," she handed over the fingers quickly, earning only a tight-lipped smile.

Sherlock grabbed the container, nodded once, and shut the door before Molly could even try to speak to him.

…

Another few weeks of peace and recovery passed for Robin. John had begun to come over more, often meeting her at cafés like they had done when they'd first met. They spoke like they used to, as well, although Robin tried to avoid the subject of Sherlock the best she could.

He seemed to be moping in 221b, for one reason or another.

In other news, however, John had a full blown moustache now. Robin had been assured by Mary that she wasn't the only person that found it strange.

Apart from that, Robin had barely left her flat except for her walks, as per usual.

She had also met with her physiotherapist again. Robin had gladly been given good news. She'd soon be done therapy, even though she'd have to continue to exercise alone. The doctor warned her that she would probably always have a bad shoulder, and her ear was not fixable without plastic surgery. The young woman had never been vain enough to care about a bad ear. So what if her ear was mangled? She was more worried by her hearing, which was now only about a third of what is should have been. It hadn't improved in some time, and the doctor had said that it might get worse over time again.

Although her arm and shoulder were healing nicely, and soon even the red from the new skin would fade, the doctor had practically mandated her to start a long-term plan to better her body mass.

She was all right now, but she needed to keep her disorder in check. It would maybe take years of observation and support, which didn't agree with the independent woman. She was a bit miffed at the whole situation but after discussing it with John and Mr Forester, she agreed it would be for the best.

Although she could never say that she was cured of her anorexia, six years ago or so she finally was able to break the cycle she had had to endure for years and had begun to slowly recover. Still, by herself it was slow and the progress was tenuous at best. Since meeting John, she had been better, with Mr Forester's help of course. Now that she was getting professional help maybe she'd be able to control it better.

She still refused to go to a shrink, however. A nutritionist and physiotherapist were good enough for her. Period.

And of course, because of her hacking, she was well equipped to pay for it all. She _technically_ wasn't rich and she had never embellished or stolen legal money but she was payed well and the underground internet had millions available to those who knew how to find it. She was well off.

Technically. But that was beside the point.

…

August passed, as did September. Robin had slowly adjusted into what she wanted to call 'normal'. Normal was now spending time with John, Mary, and even Sherlock, once they had stopped avoiding each other.

She knew she liked him, but that didn't stop her from calling his stupid and an ass. She knew that she would have to confront him about the situation but…it was just one kiss and it probably wouldn't happen ever again. It had hurt…and she had put it behind her…but he had never admitted that he was wrong or apologized. Knowing Sherlock, Robin didn't really expect it, but she had always thought that an apology was needed. Even in principal.

She wouldn't let it happen again. Not without an explanation. Surely Sherlock wasn't that oblivious to his own mind's machinations, or how it had hurt her.

Regardless of how she felt, she was nonetheless moving on.

In other news, John and Mary had revealed, after Robin had to go search them out, that they'd have their wedding the following spring. Robin was happy for them and told them that she'd help as much as she could, seeing it as a positive and constructive way to take her mind off of…stuff.

The two were adorable and Robin, although she didn't think her opinion mattered much, liked that they were taking it slow, enjoying being engaged. Life goals, right there. Seriously. Except for the part where John _still_ hadn't tried to propose again. And he hadn't gotten rid of the moustache.

"Seriously, who is going to tell him?" she had asked once, as she sat with Mary at the park.

"I…well, he seems to like it and I don't want to hurt his feelings."

"You're going to have to tell him."

"Why can't you do it?"

"Because I am neither his best friend nor his girlfriend/pseudo-fiancée. Just do it!"

"Soon, soon," placated Mary, pouting. Robin rolled her eyes, paused, and began to cackled.

"What?" wondered Mary, not getting the joke.

"No, ha…no, it's just…You know, you could just use that _veet_ stuff while he's asleep. Sherlock would probably get blamed for it anyway."

Mary agreed, it was funny.

…

 _My parents called, again. - SH_

Well, what are you going to do? - RDW

 _Nothing, of course. They cannot make me visit them. - SH_

Then stop texting me and let me go back to sleep, you twit. - RDW

 _Fine. Goodnight. - SH_

…

" _The Italian government was in shock today as fifteen pages of previously unknown corrupt politicians were released for public viewing yesterday on the internet. In those pages details of each politician were given, including personal information, history, and conviction and proof. Four of the politicians, as it turns out, where also directly linked to the growing narcotic black market even. The information was posted to a public forum by an anonymous source. How the infor-_ _"_ the anchorwoman on the news announced. The television in the corner of the old café had a fuzzy image, the sound coming from old speakers placed on high shelves next to the device.

John and Robin sat in comfy red leather seats, in the corner and slightly out of sight from the café's front window. Traffic that morning was lighter, but the occasional traveler was seen on the road or on the pavement. The café itself wasn't very big, one side taken up by the counter while the other had a row of seats similar to the one's John and Robin were sitting in. The overall feel was very…eclectic. As eclectic as a slightly worn down café with green walls could be in the centre of London.

"Good job," commented John, who had been watching and listening to the news as he sipped his coffee. Robin had tried to ignore the report, but or course she couldn't help but overhear the familiar circumstances. She had taken a job from Mycroft to go through some countries' personnel, just for security reasons, but couldn't help but expose some of the worst she had found.

She frowned, however. She had signed her work, hadn't she? Maybe they just hadn't found the 'Q' she had placed at the end of each document. Or maybe they didn't understand what it was.

"Thank you," she acknowledged, although she wondered how John had known it was her.

"For the next six days they are going to be finding reports of other corrupt politicians from six other countries. Well…if they look anyway."

"Was this a job for Mycroft?"

Robin hummed nervously, twiddling her thumbs.

"Technically," she muttered. Mycroft had asked her to look into six countries, but the job was supposed to be intelligence for the British government. It definitely wasn't supposed to go public. Still, Robin figured that this way there would be more traction in actually getting rid of those politicians. She wasn't an idiot, either. The useful names were still given to Mycroft, discreetly. It was just that the others were corrupt, useless, and annoying.

"What do you mean, technically?" asked John, confused and slightly worried for his friend.

"Well…I wasn't actually supposed to leak any names. Honestly, thought, Mycroft should have known. He can't really stop me, either."

"Robin,"

"It's fine, John. Although, I'm expecting a very annoyed text message soon."

And, with perfect timing, the text came.

"See, look, from: M 'QUARTERMASTER, EXPLAIN.'"

Robin cackled, adjusting her glasses.

"No problem!"

…

In October, Robin was invited to her first costume party by Mary. It was a get-together at the small clinic where the nurse and John worked. They were encouraged to invite friends, so they had encouraged Robin to come.

John had tried to get Sherlock to come as well, stating that all he needed to do was show up for a few minutes, at least, but of course the sour detective refused.

Robin hadn't wanted to either, unsure about going to a public event, even if it was just a small business party.

Mary was really…really, convincing. Before really knowing what was going to happen, October 31st arrived and Robin found herself dressed up for the first time since she was a small child. It brought back more memories, causing some melancholy. It wasn't all bad, however. She had loved Halloween as a child.

Wearing a long black dress, that had a high neck-line and long sleeves, that Mary had obviously acquired from somewhere absolutely brilliant, Robin donned a black pointed hat, some odd long necklaces with fake 'talismans' of something or other, and a dark brown shawl. She had forgone the green face paint. She let her black hair hang and wore her black boots.

She was a witch and it was fun.

Sherlock had stared at her, gaze distant, when she first arrived at Baker Street to meet John and Mary, but had quickly switched moods and looked as if he were trying to say 'really, you are actually going along with this rubbish?'

Robin told him to sod off. She liked the hat.

…

"You really didn't have to be such a git about it, you know," commented Robin as she handed Sherlock a cold, wet, towel for his bleeding nose.

About two days after the halloween party John had gone to visit Sherlock with Mary. Sherlock had made the unfortunate mistake of asking, quite rudely, why John still had his moustache after Halloween. Hadn't he grown it out for his costume? He had also made the mistake of not only insulting John's looks, but also revealing how everyone hated it but were too nice to say anything to the doctor. Sherlock had also apparently not said anything as he had assumed it was for Halloween.

Oh, also, had he _finally_ proposed to Mary yet? Because it was getting ridiculous.

Mary had immediately called Robin, knowing things might escalate.

When Robin had arrived, she had joined Mary in watching the two boys brawl out their differences. In the end John's military training overcame Sherlock and he had landed a fist on the detective's nose. Gladly, it wasn't broken, but Sherlock continued to complain about it.

"I thought he knew," pouted Sherlock, dabbing his nose tenderly. Robin rolled her eyes. Although he was acting like a child, Robin found Sherlock endearing. She smiled lightly, huffing.

"Idiot."

"Well, at least he is going to shave it now. Finally."

…

 **Author** **'** **s Note:**

Filler! Yay! Bah…well, I needed to show time passing somehow. Also, wouldn't Robin make the most splendid witch? I bet she scared a lot of kids at the halloween party.

Thank you for all the reviews!

Comment, review, favourite, as you please, please!

Cheers,

Elleari


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9 - Family Relations**

…

The phone was ringing. It was just past five in the morning and the phone was already ringing.

Robin, who had been asleep up until that moment, felt around for her cell blearily, almost knocking off all the things on her small bedside table.

"What?" she snapped weakly, her voice cracking and her thoughts catching up with her. _'_ _Who in the world is calling now? I was actually having a nice dream, too_ _…'_ Robin always forgot her manners when woken up, especially this early.

" _Good morning, Robin, I hope that you are recovering well,_ _'_ replied the voice from the other side of the phone. It was astutely high-class, condescending, and falsely familiar. It was Mycroft.

"…I~t was better before I was woken u-up by the government, but I suppose at least you have something important to tell me…right?" Robin drawled out, having none of Mycroft shit that early in the morning.

She hadn't heard from him since the news incident back in September, and honestly she had enjoyed the break from Mycroft's 'national security' plots.

She sat up slowly, sweeping her braided hair to one side to get it out of her face while she used her good arm to rub her eyes. She was always a bit sore whenever she awoke these days, but it was getting better. The weak streetlamp light streamed through her semi-translucent curtains and faintly illuminated her room. Even though the late fall days were short, no matter what season it was, 5 am it was still pretty dark. Even with the morning approaching.

It was quiet for a moment over the telephone and Robin had to take a moment. Silence meant two things. Whatever Mycroft was calling for was truly, awfully, important or it really, really wasn't.

" _My parents will be visiting today._ _"_

Okay. Robin was confused. Was this really, really important or dumb? Parents were supposed to be a big deal, right? And it was _Mycroft_ after all who was calling. Robin continued to think it over for a while. What was it even like to have parents as an adult? The telly never really depicted it properly and she herself had no experience. She was surprised that Mycroft wasn't calling them 'parental units' or something awfully formal like that.

The silence stretched until she finally coughed to clear her throat.

"O-oh kay. Yes. I see. Is this…good?" she asked tentatively. Wasn't having parents visit good? Sherlock had mentioned that they had contacted him as well, although that was a few months ago. Maybe they had decided to check up on their boys in the flesh…which honestly was probably a good idea.

Mycroft seemed the grumble to himself. Perhaps he had suddenly remembered her own parental situation. Maybe he'd realize she would be no use and would leave her to her sleep.

" _Normally, yes, but my family is_ _…_ _special. You can only imagine the Christmas dinners,_ _"_ explained Mycroft tartly.

"No…I really can't. What do you want me to do about it, then?"

" _Well, nothing you would be uncomfortable with_ _…_ _however Sherlock will probably be calling you later today to invite you to Baker Street. I implore you to go. My parents will certainly be there,_ _"_ Mycroft petitioned, the closest thing to begging he probably would ever come.

Robin blinked, not really knowing how to react. Well, if Sherlock asked her to come over, maybe she would, but she wouldn't do so as a favour for someone else. It didn't make much sense to her.

"Why should I? I'd rather not bother-" she began but was cut off.

" _I know you and Sherlock have not been on the best of terms, of late, but you owe me. Remember, I haven_ _'_ _t_ _…_ _repaid you_ _…_ _for the information leak. Which was, as I recall, exactly what I told you_ not _to do._ _"_

"Yes, but I hurt no one, and it's not like you can actually punish me."

" _But you owe me now, especially since I covered for you with the rest of my colleague._ _"_

Robin grumbled. Admittedly, Mycroft was right. Some of his colleagues did give her quite a bit of grief when she decided to cause a bit of chaos. She sighed, giving in.

"I figured your parents might visit soon. Sherlock visited me and mentioned that they had begun to…bother…him more back in September," replied Robin, not realizing that she had just revealed to Mycroft that Sherlock had had meant to only mention the text back in early October.

" _My brother visited you back then? When you told him to stay away?_ _"_ questioned the government man, his voice tinged with a sudden curiosity. Robin groaned. It was never easy dealing with the Holmes brothers. She just hoped that their parents would be slightly more manageable.

"…Y-es…" replied Robin slowly, hesitantly.

" _And?_ _"_

"Merde, Mycroft, it is none of your business. If you are so curious, ask your brother. It's not like I'm avoiding him anymore, anyway." Robin was not in a sharing mood, especially since it was still just five in the morning.

"I'll meet Sherlock…if he calls. Don't push your luck on this, M, I'm already in a foul mood."

And with that, Robin promptly hung up her phone, silenced it, threw it to her chair carelessly, and flopped back into bed. She snuggled under the covers, relishing the warmth, and hoped for at least a few more hours of sleep before the other brother called.

…

"Sherlock…?"

"Yes?"

"Why did you make me wear a blazer today? Why did you ask me to come at all?"

"You ask me a lot of questions, don't you?"

"Because I don't understand most of the time. So?"

"…Because I know for a fact that you are bored, and I will be bored once my parents arrive, and I'd rather have the both of us be bored together and possibly make a joke out of it," huffed Sherlock.

"And the blazer?"

"It's my parents, a standard is upheld."

Lazily, Sherlock drifting around his flat. He seemed to be moving things from time to time, and Robin didn't know whether it was to tidy up for his parents or just cause a bigger mess. The flat looked the same, more or less, as far as Robin could tell. With Sherlock's… 'puttering', she wasn't really sure if something had been changed. The network of photographs and files pertaining to the terrorist case was still up, the rats still circled in red.

Robin had been able to have three more hours of sleep before Sherlock finally called at eight. He seemed to have already been aware of Mycroft's call and that suited Robin just fine. It was just one less thing she had to explain and keep track of.

It took little convincing. Quite literally, as Sherlock had done little to try to convince Robin. They had been at a bit of an impasse over the phone, both silent for about a minute. Eventually Robin agreed to meet Sherlock in half an hour so they could discuss their case and wait for Sherlock parents so he could at least hang up the phone. Of course, the case was going nowhere and it infuriated the both of them. _'_ _Honestly, you_ _'_ _d think that terrorists would be at least a bit more_ _…_ _punctual!_ _'_

Robin found herself with a satisfied feeling knowing that Sherlock had wanted her to come. Sure, she had come partially because of the case, but Sherlock now saw her as a good enough friend to invite over for something much more mundane. Originally, their relationship had been built on the requirement of the other, but now…well…Robin enjoyed being needed simply as a person. And not only that, Sherlock had admitted to seeing her as an intellectual, and so admitted to the fact that she might just be able to understand him a bit better.

The hacker now sat in John's chair, nervous and shifting. She had dressed marginally better than she normally did, in fitted jeans, a blouse of a muted red colour, and a long black blazer that made her look marginally professional. Fidgeting, she watched Sherlock flit around the flat, silently enjoying herself, even with her nervousness showing.

She wouldn't give herself a headache by refusing to miss the man, he was infuriating enough as it was. They had kept a relatively distant contact the past months, on average, and that had suited then both of them. She still was wary of him as well, no matter what she told herself. Sherlock was right, however, she did miss him.

"…Do not tell them anything about me, Sherlock, please. Just…just…tell them that I work as a computer specialist, like I did when I first met you, yeah?" Robin asked suddenly, causing Sherlock to turn in his own surprise. He nodded easily, however.

"Of course, I should have expected as much. However, my mother was a brilliant mathematician in her day…even if her work is practically useless…and I implore you to consider discussing it with her at some point. At the very least you'll both be occupied."

Robin's eyebrows skyrocketed, surprised. His mother was a mathematician? It really shouldn't have surprised her, but still! Worrying now, she wondered what the matriarch of the Holmes family would be like. She wondered if she'd be good enough to meet the standards of another, real, live, certified mathematician. Although Robin didn't really doubt how good she actually was, she had hardly been traditionally schooled and had little experience with professors and the like. Professors had earned their official credentials, and she had never been able to be tested. She wasn't also particularly well versed in classical mathematics, as she dealt more with programming and algorithms. Robin worried that Mrs Holmes might prefer the theoretical side to maths.

' _Oh, wait_ _…'_

"Practically useless?" asked Robin, dread in her question.

"My mother was a professor of theoretical mathematics in her prime. Although a genius, her work is hardly applicable to every day life."

"R-right," faltered Robin. Great, just what she had been dreading. Theoretical mathematics, although understandable, was like looking at a surrealistic painting as a painter. As a painter you knew the techniques used to paint the painting, the colours, the paints, even the brushstrokes. But the reason behind the painting was completely unknown, there was no understanding of why.

Sherlock seemed to have noted Robin worrying her lip, brows furrowed as her mind started to fall to the beginnings of her anxiety. Crouching in front of her quickly, however, Sherlock grabbed her knees to bring her attention back. It worked.

"If you are worried about making impressions, don't. For one you are here simply because it would be preferable not to be alone with my parents…trust me…and we have a case to solve. Whatever they think of you, which honestly will not be anything bad most likely, does not matter," the detective impressed upon Robin, who had caught her breath and nodded slowly. She glanced briefly at where Sherlock's hands where, the first time he had touched her since…since the kiss. She had been actively avoiding him, but she had to admit that the touch was no less soothing as it had been before. _'_ _Damn_ _…_ _and here I thought I was over him._ _'_ She rubbed gingerly the back of her head, brushing the shaved bit, and took a deep breath.

"Right, I don't matter. Good," she repeated.

"No," corrected Sherlock, in an exasperated tone.

"Their _opinion_ doesn't matter."

"Oh…right. Okay."

"…you may leave if you are truly not comfortable in this situation," suggested Sherlock, slightly out of character. Robin appreciated it, however.

"No, I'm fine. I'm too curious about the people who raised you, anyway," laughed Robin, smiling now as she rested her hand on Sherlock's. For a brief moment she let her mind fall into a more calculating thought, her eyes glinting and the smallest smirk on her face. Sherlock, seeing this, raised a brow, but Robin just smiled back, not wanting to reveal her thoughts. Oh, how she hoped she'd get some dirt on him…even if it was just between them. Just the tiniest bit of payback.

Chuckling, Sherlock stood up and brought Robin with him, careful about her bad arm. Snorting, Robin was about to comment further when there was a sudden knocking and commotion at the door.

Stand at the doorway to the flat, were Sherlock's parents. They had let themselves in, it seemed, and of course Sherlock had left his door open as he tended to do.

"Sherlock! How are you?!" called out who could only be Sherlock's mother.

Robin, extracting herself from Sherlock's proximity, shuffled behind the detective and glanced surreptitiously at the pair who had entered.

They were…normal. Normal enough, anyway.

Very proper, Mrs Holmes had a nice black coat on and her silver hair was coiffed, a matching silver pin on her lapel. She had an honest face and although it did not look particularly kind, per se, it was intelligent. The elder woman's eyes were sharp and clear, similar to Sherlock's own, but held a wisdom that even the great detective had not reached yet.

Mr Holmes was, on the other hand, seeming very warm hearted. He too had a dignified air about him, but it was much more calm and subdued. He wore a more relaxed outfit, similar to something John might wear. He had a canvas jacket, with a checkered shirt and jeans. With him here, Robin didn't feel so underdressed. Honestly, the Holmes' had quite the style to them.

Mr Holmes' eyes were warm and kind, inviting. Mrs Holmes' was inquisitive and joyful, her focus on her son. The married pair were impressive, and if Robin hadn't been taller than average herself, their presence would have even been described as 'looming'.

As the detective took note of his guests, Robin quickly shuffled out of sight, brushing down her blazer nervously. Robin held back, wary, but awfully curious.

Sherlock grimaced, but went to greet his parents obligingly. Finally, after some initial greetings that seemed to defy the very nature of Sherlock, Mr Holmes finally turned his eyes from his disgruntled son and spotted Robin.

"Hello there! Sherlock, who is this young lady?" charmed Mr Holmes, garnering the attention of his wife as well. Robin shuffled closer slowly, comforting herself that these were Sherlock's parents and they could do little harm. Sherlock was here, as well, just in case. Yes. It would all be fine.

"Oh, yes! Hello there, nice to meet you. Are you a friend of Sherlock's?" asked the marginally more intimidating Mrs Holmes.

"Yes, this is Miss Whittaker, and we were just discussing a very important _case,_ before we were…interrupted," introduced Sherlock snidely, trying to get a message across to their parents.

"The terrorist case, right dear? Mycroft's told us about it, said it was at a standstill," replied Mrs Holmes, not missing a tick.

"We weren't interrupting anything, were we?" she asked Robin now, extending a hand.

Gulping, Robin extended a hand shakily. She hoped Sherlock hadn't been trying to do anything…it hadn't looked like it. She had to do a better job at keeping her guard.

"No?" replied Robin, glancing at Sherlock, who had a frustrated expression. She looked back quickly to Mrs Holmes, who had taken her outstretched hand.

"N-nice to meet y-you. My n-name is Robin Day Whittaker."

…

" So did you find it eventually, your lottery ticket?"

"Well, yes, thank goodness. We caught the coach on time after all. We managed to see, er, St Paul's, the Tower ... but they weren't letting anyone in to Parliament."

"Some big debate going on."

…

"I can't tell you how glad we are, Sherlock. All that time people thinking the worst of you."

It had taken over an hour, but Sherlock was finally able to heard out his parents towards the door. It had taken the arrival of John to break the tedium, interrupting a boring story about Mr Holmes' glasses. They had, however, let slip a crucial fact that…hopefully…would finally be the break in the terrorist attack case. Sherlock was visibly eager to get going, fidgeting and pacing now.

Although Robin had had a silly grin on her face for most of the visit, soaking in Sherlock's discomfort and the fact that his _parents_ were visiting him, she also understood that the detective could only take so much. Honestly, they were lovely people. After getting over her initial nerves and muteness, Robin had become fast companions with Mrs Holmes. The mother had quickly distracted the young hacker with stories of her work, back in the day. She was even able to explain her theories in such a way that Robin really…got it. Her work even had practical applications in algorithmic sorting and estimation, trying to incorporate the _n_ _th_ dimension and unlimited infinities. Fascinating stuff.

Robin was, though, doubly entertained since John had arrived. The doctor hadn't realized that the couple Sherlock was herding around was his parents and Robin was eagerly awaiting his reaction.

She too had noticed Sherlock's parents' mention about the Parliament being closed for an important political debate. Although an important one, Robin had never registered it as there were hundred of debates going on. To be covered by the news, it was still just another debate. But maybe not. Robin hadn't known that _all_ of the cabinet would be there.

Again, another thing she had missed.

Before she could scold and berate herself too much, John's impromptu arrival had interrupted Robin's thoughts on that matter. Ignoring the lead for the moment, she was now simply enjoying herself.

John had his back turned to the door, politely ignoring Mr and Mrs Holmes' discussion with Sherlock and throwing Robin confused looks. Robin just grinned brightly back at him. _Parents._ What a novelty.

"We're just so pleased it's all over," continued Mrs Holmes, coddling her youngest son as Sherlock tried to resist. He tried to close the door but Mrs Holmes was having none of it. She was as quick as her sons, and stopped him.

"Ring up more often, won't you?" asked Mr Holmes now. "She _worries._ _"_

Sherlock nodded and hummed a half-hearted reply, his reply vague.

"Promise," persisted Mrs Holmes.

Sherlock grumbled and nodded after some more fidgeting. He glanced back towards John, and then to Robin, who was still grinning like and idiot. She saw his confused face and simply scrunched up her nose, letting out a cackle.

Mrs Holmes still hadn't left, watching Sherlock, and smiled softly.

"Robin seems like a nice young woman, Sherlock," she started, "It seems like she's been through a lot, however."

Sherlock turned back to his parents, glaring at them. He nodded warily, his brow furrowed. Robin couldn't quite hear what was being said, but perked up in interest has he saw both parents and son lean in slightly.

"She also seems quite bright, and she even understood my rambling about my old maths theses!" twittered Mrs Holmes happily. Although Mrs Holmes obviously was more experienced in the field, Robin had once been considered a math genius herself, which went hand in hand with her coding and algorithmic skills.

"Yes, it comes in handy," admitted Sherlock hesitantly. His face was blank but he seemed to be struggling with himself. Although it was a completely odd expression, his father seemed to recognize the expression and his own lit up with understanding.

"Bring her around for Christmas, this year. It would be nice."

"Fath-"

"Oh come now, Sherlock, you know we love you but you can be awfully dense sometimes,"

"Mummy!" he whispered out harshly. Robin snickered in the background.

Mrs Holmes tried to reach up and pat her son's cheek, but Sherlock had had enough.

"Oh, for God-" he muttered before finally closing the door. His parent's sighs could be heard on the other side of the door. Their footsteps grew distant as the continued down the stairs and out of the flat. Resting his forehead for a second against the door, Sherlock grumbled again. Robin could swear that she could see a slight pink tinge around the detective's ears.

Soon enough, however, Sherlock had visibly calmed and his demeanour was once again stoic. The case was more important now.

Robin, not hearing the private conversation between son and parents, was still barely controlling her giggling. She had caught on enough to understand that Sherlock was quite embarrassed, glancing surreptitiously at the detective every few moments. It was gold!

Finally turning back towards the rest of the flat's occupants, Sherlock immediately caught Robin's eye and glared at her for loopy grin.

"You traitor!" he exclaimed, miffed.

"What?" replied Robin, having a hard time holding in her laugh.

"You were supposed to be bored too! You weren't supposed to _get along_ with them," steamed Sherlock, marching over to where Robin sat and bend down towards her, almost nose to nose. Robin couldn't stop grinning, and accidentally let out a giggle.

"What?" he snapped. Robin laughed again. Sherlock glared. A second or two passed with him glaring into her eyes until he suddenly flicked his gaze to the rest of her, scrunched his face, and withdrew slowly.

Turning to John, Sherlock finally acknowledged his friends presence.

"Sorry about that."

"No, it's fine. Clients?"

Sherlock hesitated, shooting another glare at Robin who was still too amused at the situation for her own good. She couldn't help it. She hadn't smiled so much in a long time…especially in front of Sherlock. She felt so free. Meeting Sherlock's family was so very novel.

"…Just my parents."

It took a moment or two for John's thoughts to catch up. He blinked, looked back out the window and caught the backside of Mr and Mrs Holmes. He looked back at Sherlock.

"Your parents?"

"In town for a few days"

" _Your_ parents."

"Mycroft promised to take them to a matinée of 'Les Mis.' Tried to talk me into doing it. At least I convinced our dear Robin here to join me this morning…although she seems more interested in laughing at me than anything else."

Robin snorted, not replying but she could see Sherlock smirking back for a second.

"Those were your parents?" John repeated again, his mind seemingly still stuck on the fact that he had met _Sherlock Holmes_ _'_ parents. And for that matter… _Mycroft_ _'_ _s_ parents. He looked out the window again just to make sure.

"Yes."

John let out a slightly high pitched giggle, drawing the attention of Robin. Slowly getting up, she went to stand next to Sherlock. He was watching John, observing his friend to see the doctor's reaction, who seemed to have an amazed look on his face, needing a double take.

Robin nudged Sherlock's shoulder, still smirking. She felt like she was on a better standing with Sherlock now. He still didn't know much of her past but she was learning to understand him more and more. Her hurt was subsiding and she was able to put it to the side.

Sherlock smirked back at her, silently communicating his amusement.

"Well…" began John, glancing one last time out of the window, trying to catch one last glimpse of the miracle parents. He chuckled, but it came out high-pitched and unbelieving.

"That is not what I…"

"What?" implores Sherlock, raising an eyebrow.

"I-I mean they're just ... so …" continues John, at a loss for words. Robin, on the other hand, knew exactly how he was feeling. But, then again, Mrs and Mr Holmes had more going on than it first appeared. As most people did, anyway. She noticed Sherlock stiffen besides her, and wondered if he was feeling embarrassed or anxious about what John thought. She would be if she were introducing…albeit badly…her parents to her friends. Or maybe he was being defensive.

"…Ordinary," finished John lamely, smiling at his best friend.

Sherlock tutted, rolling his eyes.

"It's a cross I have to bear," he replied sarcastically, getting a light whack from Robin.

"They really are lovely people, you should have met them," interjected Robin.

John smiled at Robin, but then furrowed his brow suddenly as a thought crossed his mind. It had been almost a year but…

"They knew…Is that why your parents weren't at your funeral?" asked the army doctor warily. Robin flinched, reminded of a darker time and surreptitiously glanced between the two friends. Although most of the issues had been dealt with, the scars were still raw and red, even if they were healing.

Sherlock stiffened, but sighed soon after.

"Yes…sorry," he muttered, sincere but reluctant.

Robin could visibly see John processing the news. She was glad that, after a moment of trepidation, the doctor let out a long sigh and simply nodded, accepting it all.

"Ah…um…" began Robin awkwardly, trying to change the subject. "John, you…uh…shaved?" Alright. That was not the smoothest way to change the subject. She hoped it worked. When she saw John unconsciously stroke his upper lip, where his moustache once was, she knew it had worked.

"Yeah. Wasn't working for me," replied John, moving about the room again.

Robin threw Sherlock a glance, both of them smirking behind the doctor's back. Yeah, the moustache really hadn't worked.

Suddenly, sucking in a breath through his teeth, Sherlock shot himself across the room and onto the couch, standing with less than an inch between his nose and the wall with his map.

"Robin, what have we learnt?" he asked, getting straight back to business with whiplash speed. Robin, blinking, gladly was able to catch up with him quickly enough.

"As far as we know, a terrorist attack is happening…very slowly. Slow terrorists. They're taking their time so we can expect something big. We know that Lord Moran, _the_ rat, disappeared on a train and then was seen once again a few days later. He has not done anything out of the ordinary since, but we still don't know how he did it. He, as far as I can tell, is not our Moran. From what your parents are saying there is an important debate soon in the Parliament, which I am guessing is in the next week. That is our probable target. It's distinguishable from other debates due to the probably vote that will occur, regarding…terrorist policies was it? The terrorist cell is going to do something…but we just can't tell what. I haven't picked up on any noteworthy deals in the blackmarket, for ammunition, technology, or hired hands, recently and there has been little news anywhere else that screams 'terrorists'…apart from the normal plans anyway," recounted Robin in quick succession. She quickly went over to her bag and brought out her ever-present laptop.

"Why would an agent give his life to tell us something incredibly insignificant? That's what's strange," muttered Sherlock.

Frowning, John tried to wrap his head around the information. "'Give his life'?"

"According to Mycroft. There's an underground network planning an attack on London – that's all we know."

"And that's all we have known for the past few months," added Robin.

Sweeping out his arms dramatically, Sherlock suddenly turned towards John.

"These are my rats, John."

"Rats?"

"My markers: agents, low-lifes, people who might find themselves arrested or their diplomatic immunity suddenly rescinded. If one of them starts acting suspiciously, we know something's up. Five of them are behaving perfectly normally, but the sixth…" explained Sherlock, once again whipping around to point at the photo of Lord Moran.

"That's Lord Moran, right? Robin explained his situation to me. He's a rat too?"

"Lord Moran, peer of the realm, Minister for Overseas Development. Pillar of the establishment," began Sherlock before being interrupted by Robin, who had been typing quickly on her computer, lists of finances on her screen.

"He's been working for North Korea since 1996," she continued. "I've been aware of him, but he's never been a big concern up until now. Since his disappearing act, however I've been tracking his finances to see if he's had any relation to, well…anything. Apart from the fact that he probably is associated with the terrorist group, his record is…flawless. There's a whole history there for him, from his birth certificate to the bill for chips that he bought last week."

"He's the Big Rat. Rat Number One. And he's done something very suspicious indeed," again added Sherlock.

"Yeah, but I can't find anything concrete. We can't just go and accuse a _peer of the realm_ of being a mastermind's lieutenant, assassin, criminal for hire, and sniper of choice. He's a Moran, but he's not our Moran. And we don't even know if Moran is involved in the terrorist plot."

"He is out there, and it makes sense that he would be."

"But there's no connection!" huffed Robin, frustrated.

"The connection must be there!" yelled Sherlock in reply, frustrated, before he froze. He was still for a few moments before he exclaimed suddenly and clutched his head, eyes squeezed shut.

"Stupid, stupid! Of course Moriarty's lieutenant wouldn't have a history, of course he wouldn't walk around as an ex-military," grumbled Sherlock, practically snarling at himself as he scolded himself for what now seemed obvious. Robin's brows furrowed as she watched him, backing away to give his explosive behaviour room. He was angry at himself for not seeing it, and for putting the ones he cared for in greater danger.

"Are…are they connected?" asked Robin timidly, interrupting Sherlock's brief pity-party.

"Yes!" exclaimed Sherlock in reply, jumping off the couch and bending down to grasp her shoulders.

"How old is the photo we have of Moran?" he asked fervently.

"At least ten years old, maybe more? I can't remember but it's from Moran's military days. We never saw him while he was hunting us. We don't have much current information and anything Moriarty's system might have had on him was burnt away ages ago."

"How was the agent killed?"

"A…a sniper shot. But…but that's common!"

"Lord Moran _is_ Moran!"

"What?"

…


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10 - I See No Reason**

…

"Alright…alright. So Moran is really Moran. That means his finances, personal files, _something_ should indicate who he was before. You can't just reappear as someone else, there needs to be _something._ There's always a scar in the records," Robin tries to reason, her heart rate accelerated and her breath a bit short.

They had been slow, too slow. The plot was too nebulous for them to follow, the single agent's death tragic but vague. Nothing connected except for the fact that Lord Moran was a rat and had done something suspicious…but if he was _Moran_ then he would not only have the resources to pull the terrorist plot, he was also connected to everything else. Perhaps that was the whole reason why he had originally appeared in London to begin with.

Robin felt like she had had the wind kicked out of her and admittedly, so did everyone else. A solemn silence lingered over the three friends. John looked like he was just catching up with what was being said, his mind making sense of the whole scenario. Sherlock, for his part, seemed calmer, but was also wide-eyed, his mind also catching up with his statement.

"If…if you're right…It…it fits. It makes sense…we found Moran. He…," started Robin in a breathless whisper. The sniper still terrified her.

"He hid in plain sight. And he doesn't know that we know. As soon as we can I will get Lestrade to fetch him…but…we still don't know what the _plan is!_ " finished Sherlock, ruffling his hair in frustration. John slowly approached Robin and asked if he could see the video of Moran disappearing on the train for himself. She nodded silently, handing over her computer and letting John sit down at the desk by the window.

"And without knowing the plan, we can't stop it. Even if we arrest Moran, he's probably got a whole backup network to do it anyway."

"Any idea who they are – this underground network?" asked the medical doctor, staring at the video now.

"Intelligence must have a-a list of the most obvious ones,"

"They do, and I've got five possible organizations," replied Robin offhandedly. "But that doesn't mean anything if we don't know what they want to do."

"Our rat has been acting strange, but he's come out of his den…"

"Al-Qaeda, ISIS; the IRA have been getting restless again – maybe they're gonna make an appearance…" continued John in his own tangent.

By now, the two men were off on their own thought trails, Robin stuck in the middle. She mumbled to herself, rubbing her eyes tiredly. They had so many options, and so little to connect it all. The worst, however, nagged at her mind, sending her stomach over the edge. If Lord Moran really was Moran…which honestly was probably the only option that made any sense, then Robin was worried that he would have a grudge over Sherlock. No…Robin knew the sniper had a grudge, as he had already attempted to hunt Sherlock once. This time, if they didn't get to Moran first, the terrorist problem might not be the only thing they would have to worry about.

"But what has the Parliament got to do with anything," she asked herself, still remembering what Sherlock's parents had mentioned. She was aware of the debate at the Parliament, of course, she was, but she didn't see why it might affect the plot.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, YES! I've been an idiot – a blind idiot!" declared Sherlock suddenly, triumphantly springing to his feet and grabbing Robin. He smiled at her manically, before quickly tugging her in and placing a swift kiss on the crown of her head. Robin, shocked, didn't even have enough time to respond before he let go and started to pace. She blinked once or twice. She hoped John hadn't noticed. She glanced at her friend. Yep. He had.

Warmth and bile rose up at the same time and she quickly squashed down her churning heart. Now was NOT the time. She couldn't even be angry. It was an innocent action, anyway.

"What?" asked John, now confused at Sherlock's revelation, which wasn't new. The sudden kiss his friend had given Robin, however, was definitely new.

"Oh, that's good. That could be brilliant."

"What are you on about?"

"Mycroft's intelligence – it's not nebulous at all. It's specific – incredibly specific," replied Sherlock, finally turning to his two confused friends. Robin just stared at him, trying to figure it out. Specific? How specific? What was in the Subway and the Parliament?

"What do you mean?" asked John more firmly now, needing to know.

Suddenly, it clicked for Robin. Moran hiding and disappearing, the underground tube, the parliament, the debates. It was all a matter of location. She immediately recalled all of the maps she had memorized the best she could. She remembered every measurement, figure, and calculation she had done trying to triangulate where the train had disappeared to.

Sherlock turned to John, exasperated at his slow friend.

"Not an underground network, John. It's an _Underground network_."

"Right… What?" asked John again.

Robin grabbed her computer back from John and set off to find the digital maps of the underground she had saved from months earlier. They were from the national archives, from the government, even from NASA's satellites. Her heart beating, she felt thrilled at solving the mystery. She was terrified, no doubt, and she refused to go anywhere near the Parliament building, but she knew she could help now. She could do something. Or at least she would try her hardest, again.

Sherlock followed Robin and looked over her shoulder. She didn't notice his expression of appreciation, as he knew that Robin understood now as well. He smirked, staying a beat by her ear, watching her work before quickly looking up back at John.

"Sometimes a deception is so audacious, so outrageous that you can't see it even when it's staring you in the face," the detective tried to explain.

"Like Lord Moran really being Moran," added Robin absentmindedly, barely aware of her surroundings as she focused.

"Remember the video you just watched, John. Seven carriages leave Westminster…but only six carriages arrive at St James's Park," Sherlock kept going, a glint in his eye as he was able to explain his thinking.

"But that's ... I ... it's-it's impossible," stipulated John, his expression disbelieving. It was just not possible. The carriage had to be somewhere.

"Moran didn't disappear – the entire Tube compartment did. The driver must have diverted the train and then detached the last carriage."

"Detached it where?! You said there was nothing between those stations."

"Not on the maps, but once you eliminate all the other factors, the only thing remaining must be the truth." Sherlock glanced over back at Robin's work. She had been filtering out every single map of the tube she could find. Right back to when they were being built. There were countless rails and stations to go through. Over the years the underground had accumulated quite a few closed stations, whether from wear and tear, or the simple fact that they were no longer needed.

Robin felt Sherlock's presence by her shoulder, but ignored it the best she could. Eventually, however, Sherlock began to get impatient. He began to tap his finger on the table, shifting from one foot to another.

"Ne bouge pas!" she hissed out, grabbing his tapping hand and stilling it in frustration.

Robin looked up and turned her head, ignoring how close the detective and her were, she nodded and pointed to a specific spot on one of the maps.

"Calmez-vous…we'll find it."

"Of course…"

"That carriage vanished, so it must be somewhere. Just like Moran couldn't have simply vanished and now it's turned out that one Moran really was the other."

"But why, though? Why detach it in the first place?" asked John, his voice worried.

"It vanishes between St James's Park and Westminster. Lord Moran vanishes. And what is between one station and the other?"

"The House of Commons!"

"John, what's the date today?" asked Robin suddenly, looking away from her computer and to Sherlock.

"Hmm? November the ... My God,"

Sherlock, now truly triumphant, strutted back towards his wall.

"Lord Moran – he's a peer of the realm. Normally he'd sit in the House. Tonight there's an all-night sitting to vote on the new anti-terrorism bill."

"How ironic. Everyone important would be there, wouldn't they?" asked Robin, her brow furrowing. Sherlock nodded. This was happening tonight. After months of waiting and searching, they had caught the threat just in time.

"But Moran won't be there. Not tonight. Not the fifth of November."

"'Remember, remember.'"

"'Gunpowder treason and plot.'"

…

"What are you doing?" asked Sherlock, staring at Robin as she worked as quickly as she could. She had her laptop open in front of her and had confiscated John's, so she could get as many screens working as possible. Robin and Sherlock were still in 221b's living room, close to an hour later. John was downstairs, talking to Mary on the phone, informing her of what was happening just in case.

Robin sat on the ground, her hair tied in a messy bun and her glasses perched on her nose. Her brow furrowed, and her teeth gnawing on her bottom lip, she didn't notice Sherlock's stare. She was leaning against Sherlock's chair, having abandoned the work desk, preferring the floor, and Sherlock had been pacing around the couch. He watched her type furiously, staring at map, after map, after map. He wasn't watching her work, however, he was simply watching her. And, again, Robin was oblivious to his attentions.

For the briefest second, in all the chaos that had erupted after the trio had figured out what Moran was up to, Sherlock paused to observe the woman in front of her work.

Not looking up, Robin waved him over.

"Remember how I bugged Mr Shilcott's computers when we were there? It's finally come in handy. As far as I understand, we're looking for a rail that doesn't exist that could contain the missing carriage that Moran stole, yeah? So I'm going through every digital copy of Shilcott's maps…" she explained as Sherlock made his way over to Robin, staring at her still.

He sat down next to her, still fidgeting.

"How long will this take?" he asked, impatient.

"Well, I've emailed Shilcott the details, but…I don't know. He's got hundreds of copies, both digital and print. Some dating back to the beginning of the underground's construction," hypothesized Robin, opening up another file to stare at another new map.

"We're running out of time."

"I know!" snapped Robin, a bit too harshly. She wrinkled her nose, and again opened another file. It was taking too slow! She was frustrated that she couldn't just use an algorithm to find something, but she didn't have time to write it. Humans were so slow! She needed machines, she needed the speed that technology gave her.

She hoped Sherlock didn't comment on her behaviour, because no matter how much she cared about him, she really didn't need it right now.

Robin wanted to be able to help, to safely help her friends in a dangerous situation. Research and information streaming was a specialty of hers, and one of the best ways to help her friends. This was her way of protecting them, with information. But she still had limits to how much she could do manually, even with Shilcott and Sherlock helping. On top of that, she hadn't even begun to search for the rest of the terrorist network. She had to at least try, now knowing what to look for.

The maps from Shilcott's computer were top notch, but like she had said, there were simply too many. She was waiting for the train lover to respond to her emails, her texts, and any other form of communication. Nothing yet. Soon she figured that she might as well just set off his fire alarm or house security to get his attention.

Suddenly, her phone pinged, and Robin leapt to grab it. Sherlock leaned away quick to get out of the way of the anxious woman, his eyes wide as he got a face-full of pine-smelling hair.

…

John came back into the room, watching as Sherlock tried his best to get out of the way as Robin was leaning over Sherlock's lap to reach her phone fervently. He saw how his friend's eyes bulged, his hands raised by his head quickly. Although it wasn't really the time, John smirked knowingly.

His smirk fell with a snap as he heard a small hum of anticipation escape Robin, her brow furrowing.

"What is it?" asked the doctor as Robin unlocked her phone.

Her eyes widening, she smiled brightly suddenly and showed Sherlocks something on her phone. He seemed to react positively too and suddenly Robin was once again typing furiously.

"Shilcott's finally answered. He sent me a photo of an old map from one of his books, said he's got a scan of it in his database somewhere. Looking for it now," Robin explained abruptly, Sherlock getting up and retrieving his coat.

"Alright, but what's on the map?" asked John, curious. Adrenaline was starting to kick in as he realized that this would give them the location of the missing car.

"He says it's off of Sumatra Road. 'They built the platforms, even the staircases, but it all got tied up in legal disputes, so they never built the station on the surface' says he," Robin repeated. "We…we couldn't find the tunnel…because it was never even finished! So they never even put it on most maps!"

Finding the file she needed, she showed the picture of the map Shilcott had sent on her laptop. Lo and behold, there was the mysterious ghost station. John's eyes widened, surprised that no one had ever really noticed.

"I'm sending it to your phones, Lestrade's and Mycroft's too. Sherlock, you'll be able to get to the station from the underground, just follow the map," Robin called out, to which Sherlock nodded in thanks.

"It's right underneath the Palace of Westminster."

"Lestrade's aware of what's going on, but I'll inform the police of what we've found just as soon as you leave. I'm not going to be able to get to you, probably, since the signal is rubbish underground. Just…be careful alright? Promise me you'll stay safe…and yes I know this is not practical, but I mean relatively."

John patted Robin on the shoulder, reassuring her as best he could, muttering his promise. She was staring at Sherlock, however, and he was staring straight back. Their gazes were not defiant, but Sherlock straightened, her coat and scarf making him look formidable. A heartbeat went by before Sherlock's gaze suddenly softened, and he nodded, not promising anything orally, but answering Robin's plea regardless. He turned and started to walk away, coat billowing behind him.

John felt hopeful, and the tiniest bit safer, with Robin as their backup. Sherlock never planned cautiously enough for these things.

"And so what's down there? A bomb?" asked John, scrambling to get his coat. Sherlock did not reply, but Robin raised her eyebrow, cocking her head to the side.

"John, what do you expect, it's a terrorist plot."

"Oh."

…

As Sherlock led John down into the underground station of Westminster, he checked his phone, glancing around to look for the maintenance entrance they needed. Robin was sending him GPS coordinates as best she could, but the signal was already pretty weak.

"So it's a bomb, then? A tube carriage is carrying a bomb," asked John, right on Sherlock's heals.

"Must be."

"Right."

Finding the right entryway, Sherlock suddenly produced a crowbar from his jacket. John, bewildered, looked around to see if anyone noticed the tall man in the coat forcing the maintenance gate open.

"Is this even legal?" questioned John, although he already knew the answer to that.

"Probably not."

"Shouldn't we get the police to evacuate the Parliament?"

"What? No!" exclaimed Sherlock, just as managed to pry to gate open. Looking back at John as if he was an idiot, Sherlock stuffed the crow bar back into his jacket.

"Robin has already called Lestrade and she's organizing that bit. If Parliament evacuates suddenly, the terrorists will know something is up and either run like rats or detonate the bomb prematurely."

Pulling torches out, the two slipped past the gate, John thankful that no one was paying attention to them. They headed down the dark tunnel, tubes and wires running along the concrete walls. Water dripped from cracks and their footsteps echoes slightly as they proceeded. John, still wary, was trying to reassure himself that Robin was responsible enough to get everyone safely out. Moran would be caught finally, and no one would be hurt…hopefully. Still, checking his signal, John saw that they really were cut off, and Robin would have no way of communicating with them so far underground. The doctor hoped that the hacker would be okay.

"What are you doing?"

"Coming!" replied John, catching up with the detective.

Sherlock pioneered ahead, stalking down one tunnel into the next. Finally, after what seemed like forever, they passed through the last dank and dimly lit tunnel and arrived at the Sumatra Road station. The station itself resembled the rest of the tunnels, however, and there was no improvement to their dark, dank, surroundings. Shining his torch about, Sherlock's brow furrowed in confusion.

"I don't understand," mumbled Sherlock, looking over the station once more before checking the map.

"Well, _that_ _'_ _s_ a first," replied John sarcastically, catching up to the detective and looking about himself.

Although they had arrived at the station, there was no train car, no bomb. The station was empty.

"There's nowhere else it could be."

Screwing up his face in concentration, Sherlock attempted to calculate where the carriage would have to be. He imagined the car, and the bomb igniting. Fire and heated gas rushed past him, out into the tunnel, and up into an air vent just about a hundred feet away. With that explosion and the heat given off by it, he could hypothesize the Palace of Westminster exploding…if…

"Oh!"

Sherlock's eyes snapped open, finding his answer. He ran off towards the end of the platform, knowing exactly where to go. John, caught of guard, called after him but to no success. He quickly followed Sherlock, but stopped when he saw Sherlock jump off the platform and onto the rails.

"Hang on. Sherlock?" he called, concerned.

"What?" Sherlock called back, turning abruptly.

"That's ... Isn't it live?" asked John, wary, motioning to their feet.

"Perfectly safe as long as we avoid touching the rails," replied Sherlock, setting off with a determined gait.

John huffed. "'Course, yeah! Avoid the rails," he muttered sarcastically before jumping onto the track himself.

"Robin's gonna kill you if you manage to hurt yourself!" he called out, smirking when he saw Sherlock's stride falter the tiniest bit.

"This way!"

"You sure?"

"Sure."

Finally, they found the missing carriage, the red standing out against the darkness as the pair shone their torches at it. The carriage was parked just beyond a large circular air vent, at the apex of a slight curve in the tracks.

Heading towards the carriage, John once again hoped that Robin had the police on their way. Although he had been in fights, chases, and madmen's plots along side his friend, this was still one of the most dangerous situations they'd ever been in. He had promised Mary and Robin to stay safe, each for their own reasons, and he was determined to keep his friend alive too.

Sherlock, for his part, was cautious enough, approaching the air vent. He knew what he would find there, deducing what would be in the carriage earlier. The detective silently appreciated the extra maps Robin had downloaded onto his phone, preparing him in advance. He had the whole of London memorized, of course, but that did not mean the guide was useless. Quite the opposite.

"John," called Sherlock, getting the doctor's attention.

Approaching the gaping vent, Sherlock slowly breathed in, steeling himself before shining his torch upwards. John's light joined his a moment later and they both stiffened at the sight of rows of explosives lining the vent.

"Demolition charges," breathed John, his voice a bit raspy.

Robin was not going to be happy.

…

 **Author's Note:**

I'M BAACK! And with another chapter. So, this story is actually coming to a close. It ends when the episode ends, naturally, and I'm hoping to write the next two episodes as well. Although...the wedding may be much shorter. We'll see. I might write up 'John's Blog' entries with Robin in them, too. IDK...I've got plans.

But, yeah. Robin's once again mission control...but we'll see how much control she has the third time around.

Thank you to everyone who's reviewed.

DalonegaNoquisi **:** I want her to deck Sherlock, too. But Robin's really... _really..._ not the time. But we'll see. She is growing, however. And passive aggressive.

Follow, Review, Comment!

Cheers,

Elleari


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11 - No WiFi**

…

Robin sat, once again, in John's chair, waiting nervously for any news from her two dear friends. She had been waiting for perhaps no more than two hours but if felt like a week. She hated this, she really did. This was just like what happened last time, but she had to console herself with the fact that they were in control this time. She had armed them the best she could.

Although she was waiting, she was not idle. A computer was open on her lap as she multitasked several tasks.

Firstly, she had to manage the police. She had contacted Lestrade immediately but told him to hold off on evacuation attempts. She had given him all the information he needed for both their friends' locations and the terrorists' plans. She had instructed him to wait for evacuation after finding Moran if needed. She had suggested he be ready first with a bomb disposal team, however, and told them to head down as soon as possible.

Locating Moran, gladly, had been one of the easier tasks. She had traced all of Lord Moran's movements and purchases for the past few days, eventually finding out that he had gotten one of his secretaries to book him a room at a hotel in range so that he could detonate the bomb.

Honestly, knowing that Lord Moran was really Moran, Robin found his work to be sloppy. He was no genius. Smart, yes, but he lacked finesse. The ex-army assassin turned politician had become too comfortable in his alias. Although sniper Moran was in the wind, due to the fact that the persona literally did not exist at the moment, Lord Moran was easily observed. She had a live feed of Moran's hotel room on her phone, coming from the modern 'smart' television in the room. She had bugged the same television for audio, and she was now attempting to hack into the rest of the hotel's electronic network.

Robin had coordinated with Mycroft Moran's arrest, assuming the elder Holmes no doubt had plans for the terrorist. She had given him probable locations of the rest of the probable terrorist organization and had cut any communication it had between itself and Moran. She had falsely planted a 'radio silence' warning so that there would be no suspicions as to why Moran was not receiving any info. Still, she wondered how big the organization was. Moran was crafty enough on his own, and with the remains of Moriarty's crumbling network, there weren't many other probable suspects the sniper would call upon.

All in all, she felt that they were in the control of the situation. As long as Sherlock and John made it, and neither of them did anything stupid, they would be fine.

Finally, however, although she had organized everything up top to the best of her ability, she was completely blind to what was going on below. She simply didn't have the time to get something down to where Sherlock and John now were. She had been able to follow them while they were in the main station, whether by social media feed, or by security cameras, but Sumatra Road had nothing.

She had a bad feeling, however. She had gone over the map hundreds of times, but she just couldn't calculate a single scenario where a manageable explosive, which could be smuggled safely in a briefcase, could have enough detonation force to completely destroy the Parliament. It wasn't probable with only a single source of an explosion.

The amount of time Moran had taken to plan this was indicative of something…enormous.

She had her eye on a particular vent, right below the main room in Westminster Palace. She had found it on a second map, not being added to the underground system until later. If…if there were more explosives, that would be where she would put them.

Robin rubbed her temples. She should probably call Lestrade. Maybe meet him at the station.

She had to keep them safe.

…

Down below in the dim underground tunnel, Sherlock and John observed the demolition charges they had just found on the walls of the air vent. The charges were neatly lines row after row up the vent, although they could not clearly see how far they went. Regardless, the amount of explosive force that would come from those charges would no doubt level the streets above, destroying the Westminster Palace and killing anyone in it.

After another moment passed, Sherlock's light quickly disappeared from the vent as he started searching the walls, slowly making his way towards the still waiting train carriage.

"What are you doing?" asked John, noticing his friend's behaviour.

"Searching. There must be a camera or dish, or something that I could use to contact Robin and inform her of the extent of the explosives," explained Sherlock, giving a straight answer for once. He searched a bit more but found nothing.

"There's nothing here!" the detective ground out in frustration.

"Robin will have everything under control."

"But how could she know!"

"She can't, Sherlock, that's why we're here to defu-…defuse the bomb," John answered, somewhat shakily. His mind was finally catching up that they would have to defuse a bomb…or even multiple bombs if the demolition charges were set individually.

"But she's got a quick mind…she'll probably have already thought of this as a variable."

Sherlock's jaw tightened, swallowing his reply. He wanted to shout back that she _needed_ to know. Because he had to keep his word. He had promised that they would be okay.

Sherlock shook his head. He was determined, but if he thought too much about it, that type of thinking would only make him more likely to make a rash mistake. He would revisit his thinking later. John was right, as well. She was able to calculate variable outcomes in a flash, he had little doubt that she had considered the size of the explosive.

But there was still uncertainty.

Slowly, Sherlock approached the carriage, checking one side as John checked the other. Finding nothing, Sherlock quickly pried open the carriage doors and entered.

The two friends shone their torch light everywhere, observing the dingy off-white frame of the inside, the blue felted seats, everything.

"It's empty. There's nothing," muttered John, not seeing a device anywhere he looked. He had missed the red and black wires Sherlock was now following with his torchlight.

"Isn't there?"

Gingerly, Sherlock lifted a seat cushion a crack, having followed the wires down to behind the seat. Shining the light below the seat cover, Sherlock peaked below and once again stiffened, realizing what he was seeing. Carefully, the detective set the seat back, looking around him before pointing, circling around.

"This is the bomb."

"What?"

Somewhat hoping he was wrong, Sherlock lifted the first seat again, now taking the cover off fully. John finally saw the mass of red and black wires that was being concealed by the seat.

Quickly, the two remove one seat cover after another at random, revealing an identical mass of wires all connected to individual explosive charges.

Finally, after searching the whole carriage, they had found the largest bomb, which looked like it was wired to all the others as the control. The two friends stared at it. John had no idea what to do. He knew now that they were way over their head. Again.

"We need bomb disposal."

"There may not be time for that now."

…

Robin hurried down the street, the London night bright and busy so close to the centre of government. The important anti-terrorism debate was in full swing by now. The politicians were all in Westminster Hall, while businesspeople and reporters alike filled the streets around the Parliament. It was no more busy than during any other debate…but there was still too many people.

Lestrade was on his way to arrest Moran, Mycroft's people in tow, but Robin feared it might be too late.

Picking up the pace, she rolled her stiff shoulders and tugged her coat closer to herself. With one mittened hand, she clutched her phone, which had a constant stream of what Moran was doing at all times. Her laptop bag was heavy with her equipment and she had a Bluetooth device in her ear, just in case. For once, the Quartermaster was plugged in and in control.

She had tried to hack into the bomb's control network, but with such a weak signal she was too far away to do any good. She didn't want to risk jumping onto Moran's computer while he was still on it, especially if he had a secondary detonator. And so, she found herself rushing towards Westminster Palace, the House of Commons, and the tube.

Robin glanced down at her phone only to see that Moran had activated the bomb. She could see him preparing to leave now from her live feed. A stream of code popped up on the screen next, showing her the command he had typed in.

Her breath hitched. They had under two minutes. It wasn't enough time. Steeling herself, forcing herself not to begin the shake, she stopped where she was and sent off two texts. First, to Mycroft, telling him Moran was on the move. Secondly, she sent a text to Lestrade, who was no doubt just a few minutes behind John and Sherlock, that the bomb was active. She hoped that the DI hadn't stepped off the main platform, where she could still reach him. In desperation, she hacked into his contacts and messaged any other officer she could find, in hopes they could get the message to Lestrade.

She had a command ready, just in case, that would cut the signal from Moran's detonator to the bomb, just in case. She really hoped that he didn't have a second detonator. She was ready to hack the bomb further, stopping the detonator but making it look like it was still counting down…but that would only buy them some extra time. And she didn't even know if it was possible.

Robin assumed, however, that although the bomb was active Sherlock would have no problem turning it off. It was, after all, just a flip of the switch.

…

"So you can't switch the bomb off. You can't switch the bomb off and you didn't call the police."

"Go, John. Go now."

"There's no point now, is there, because there's not enough time to get away; and if we don't do this, other people will die!"

…

"I-I'm sorry," whispered Sherlock, who had just come out of his Mind Palace.

John, now absolutely furious at his friend, screwed his eyes shut.

"I can't ... I can't do it, John. I don't know how."

Perhaps Sherlock knew that this was not a good idea. Perhaps he knew that this went way beyond a 'bit not good,' but he knew that although almost a year had passed since he had come back, John still hadn't fully forgiven him. His best friend was still too closed off, too cautious. He was too worried as if Sherlock might disappear again if he didn't watch his friend. It wasn't all too visible, but they hadn't taken a major case since Moran's sniper and Sherlock needed to know John forgave him, so he knew where he stood if they were ever in another dangerous situation. He wanted them to be like they had been _before._

So he pretended that he couldn't switch the bomb off.

"Forgive me?"

Furious, John replied quickly. " _What?!_ _"_

"Please, John, forgive me ... for all the hurt that I caused you."

"No, no, no, no, no, no. This is a trick."

"No." Yes. Yes, it might be, but in Sherlock's mind he had to know.

"Another one of your bloody tricks."

…

Breathing in and out, trying to stay as calm as he could, John tried to articulate what he was feeling. He thought he was going to lose his future with Mary. He was going to break his promise to Robin. He was going to lose his best friend…again.

"You know I'm not good at this," he muttered, glaring at his friend.

"It's difficult, this stuff."

"If I hadn't come back, you wouldn't be standing there and…" Sherlock didn't know how to finish that thought. And what? They wouldn't be about to…technically…die? Yes, a lot could go wrong and he knew he had not accounted for all of the variables, but he did trust Robin to have at least some backup on the way.

And if the backup did not arrive in time and were swept up in the explosion as well?

Still, just like John, Sherlock paused and thought about his promise to Robin. He hadn't technically broken it, so why was his gut feeling like it had been stabbed? For once, he was regretting his actions. He knew the worth of Robin's trust and for one reason or another it mattered to him.

John was gathering his wits, not able to look at his friend in fear of crying. He took another calming breath.

In.

Out.

"You were the best and the wisest man...that I have ever known" started John, not being able to stop himself sniffing. Sherlock stiffened, listening intently.

"Yes, of course, I forgive you."

Sherlock's whole being slumped in relief, not being able to hide it. He would later deny it, but tears formed, and perhaps one fell. Now he knew. His home was back to how it should be. Now he could stop the clock. But did he deserve those words?

"But," began John, catching Sherlock attention again. "Before we…go…you need to tell me something. No lying. No tricks."

"What is it?" asked Sherlock, not expecting this and just a bit curious.

"Does the promise we made, to keep safe, mean anything to you?"

Sherlock paused, not understanding. "What?"

"What about Mary…I love her, Sherlock. And what about everyone else?" gulping, John began, thinking things through.

"I mean, well, Rob was in a bad place before and if she loses us…" explained John, not being able to finish the thought. "I mean, what is she going to do?"

Sherlock stared for a moment, his gut plummeting uncomfortably. He didn't understand, however, what John meant. How bad had Robin been? Of course, he had not known Robin like John had at the beginning.

"She will move on," he replied simply.

"Rob's lost too much already."

"She is strong."

"Is that what you think? Actually…what do you think of her?"

Sherlock looked at John oddly. What did he mean?

"She is a friend," began Sherlock, keeping an eye on the clock.

"…No…I mean…" John paused, knowing he wasn't getting anywhere. He paused a second to think, knowing he didn't have much time left.

"Look, would you be on that roof again if she had been in my situation? Do you honestly care for her? Like family, or…bugger if I know…"

Sherlock thought about this, his mind racing. He had to reply. But he didn't know. He thought back to the night he had tried to break into her flat, to tell her to come back. She had not been physically far, but she was trying to break away, her flight instinct stronger than her fight. Sherlock had not dealt particularly well with the situation, but he had come to one conclusion from the night.

"I kissed her."

"… _What!_ _"_ If John had not been so hyped up on adrenaline, literally about to die, he might have needed to lay down.

"It was a mistake."

"What!" John sounded angry now.

"I…would consider her close enough to save her. I do care for her, more than I practically think is necessary, but there it is. She is intelligent, and an asset. It was a mistake to kiss her, I do not feel for her like _that_."

He sighed. He might as well come clean…perhaps the ugly feeling in his chest would subside.

"When I…did it, it was to get her to come back. I manipulated her, and she did not take it well. That was why we were so distant those few weeks…and she still evades me. It was a mistake and I've been trying to regain her trust. She is dear to me and…I honestly wish I did not have to break that promise. Just as I am sorry now."

He wasn't trying to be grandiose. Sherlock was sincere for once, and it was strange. He hadn't really addressed any of his thoughts on Robin, and now was finding that she was quite important. Looking at all the sacrifices he's made for John and even for Mary, Lestrade, Molly…Robin was a good match.

"That…that's _really_ not good, Sherlock."

…

He saw the switch. With just under a minute and a half, he flicked it off. Grinning, his teary expression morphed into one of triumph and mirth. He grinned wildly as John noticed the clock stop, eyes widening.

Sherlock, laughing now, was far past caring about the consequences. He knew John forgave him now, after a year of nagging worry. He had even admitted he had kissed Robin, getting that off his chest and for once being able to clearly think about it. A bomb really did wonders for the mind.

Noticing John's dumbfounded face, Sherlock couldn't keep it in. He had tears leaking from the corners of his eyes as he tried to withhold his laughter.

Soon, however, John's anger began to rise and boil over.

"You-"

"Your face!"

" _utter-_ "

"I totally had you."

"You cock! I knew it! I knew it! You f…"

"Oh, those things you said – such sweet things! I-I never knew you cared!" exclaimed Sherlock, still laughing happily. John's face screwed up, grimacing.

"I will kill you if you ever breathe a word of this…and tell the world you fancy Robin."

Sherlock calmed down slightly at the threat.

"I don't fancy her. Don't lie," muttered the detective dejectedly.

…

"There's always an off switch," noted Sherlock, pointing it out to John as the doctor bent down to have a look.

"Terrorists can get into all sorts of problems unless there's an off switch."

"So why did you let me go through all that?" asked John, stiff and still blistering.

"I didn't lie altogether…" began Sherlock, looking serious for a moment before giggling again. "I've absolutely no idea how to turn any of these silly little lights off."

"I'm going to punch you…and so is Mary and Robin when I tell them."

"Well, Lestrade is on his way with a squad. And Robin is probably near as well. Of course she wouldn't have left us alone with a bomb," brushed off Sherlock, noticing torch lights approaching.

"I'm definitely gonna kill you," muttered John, noticing the approaching group. Sherlock grinned fanatically, getting up and making his way towards the door.

"Oh, please! Killing me…that's so two years ago."

…

Robin was typing away, brow furrowed, deactivating as much of the bomb as she could herself. Although her tablet's processing was not the best, the system really wasn't that complicated and since it was already off, she just had to cancel the signals between charges. The tunnel didn't have any remote signals since it would have activated from the carriage's explosive force. That she left to the professionals.

It wasn't hard, but she needed to deactivate it. She needed to make sure that everyone was safe. John and Sherlock were still in the carriage off in some god forsaken tunnel, but if she thought too much about it now, she'd go running in. She needed to finish her job first. Oh, and stay as far away from the bombs as possible.

And of course, Mycroft was informing her that Moran was still oblivious and about to be arrested with constant messages on her phone. She was able to listen in on the team's communication on her Bluetooth.

Although a team had gone down to find Sherlock and John and start to disable the bomb, Robin had stayed with Lestrade and his team as they directed people away from the area of the bomb. Although the device itself was inactive it was still live and a major danger, and so the Parliament, along with about a block's worth of space around the building, had been evacuated. At the moment, Robin and Lestrade were anxiously waiting down by the maintenance entrance that Sherlock and John had originally used at Westminster station.

"Lestrade, I need to find a proper computer if you want me to deactivate the whole system," commented the hacker, finally reaching the capacity of what her tablet could do.

"There's a team already on it, Robin, just relax," replied Lestrade, noting the way the woman in front of him was blinking too much and fidgeting. The stress and lack of sleep were finally getting to the recovering woman.

"No, I can do it faster. Just-" she complained, not trusting the competence levels.

"Robin, you've done enough. The rest is busy work. Go and calm down," soothed Lestrade, knowing what to say to a busybody genius.

"It's alright I-"

" _Go._ "

"Merde…alright, fine. I'm going to head topside and see if I can get a hold of Mycroft."

Stuffing her tablet in her bag and bundling her coat around her again, Robin brushed past officers unnoticed until she finally reached the entrance of the underground station. It was probably early morning by now, but it was nonetheless dark. Police car lights and street lamps lit the area, however, and Robin found a nice bench to sit down on and curl up, bringing her knees to her chest. She had gladly taken the precaution to wear her winter coat, a maroon fur lined parka with extra fur around the neck, knowing it would be cold, along with a knit scarf, mittens, and hat. With boots, she was warm enough to start to doze on the bench, the dissipation of adrenaline catching up with her finally.

…

Robin's head lolled and she must have dozed off for a couple of minutes because the next thing she knew Lestrade was nudging her. Before knowing what she was doing, she flinched back, huddling in, before realizing what was going on. She jumped awake and quickly stood, looking around frantically, not knowing what she needed to do. Looking around, she saw Sherlock and John staring at her as they stood under a street lamp just outside the station stairwell.

Sherlock seemed to have been smiling for quite some time, even laughing. His face was flush and even the staring officers couldn't deter his smirk. John, on the other hand, was a bit more pale and his eyes were red, and he didn't look very amused. He rolled his eyes as he saw the way Sherlock's eyes locked onto Robin and how the detective's smile grew more sly and almost boisterous.

Eyes glazing slightly, Robin's breath hitched as she saw her friends, alive and well. Her fatigue almost forgotten, Robin grinned widely and tried to calm her heart. _'_ _They are fine, they are safe. Everything is and was under control. M_ _es chers sont sains et saufs_ _._ _'_ Immediately Robin started to head towards the two, ignoring Lestrade who looked on with amusement.

"Robin!" exclaimed Sherlock, and laughed in triumph. He seemed to almost want to throw his arms up in the air and yell 'look what I did!'

Robin waved back heartily, with both hands, as she approached quickly.

"John, Sherlock, you alright?" she called.

"More or less," replied John, now smiling too.

As Robin reached her friends, however, arms still up and excited, she didn't really expect Sherlock to grab her around the waist, pull her towards him, and twirl her, all the while chuckling madly. She was light but slightly too tall for a good spin, but Sherlock managed to lift her off the ground just the slightest bit. Her arms, previously raised, grabbed onto his shoulders, and she let out a gurgle of surprise before giggling madly. Her eyes went wide, but she understood immediately that there was no danger and she began to laugh and hug him back, relishing the feeling. Sherlock smelt of dirt, sweat, and garbage but as she tucked her face into his scarf and his coat, squeezing her eyes shut, she could smell the normal scents too. It was a comfort. She didn't notice Sherlock doing the same thing but did feel his nose brush her neck lightly. For a moment, the embrace was almost too much for Robin, but she clutched at Sherlock's coat and she told herself that it was all right now.

Laughing, Sherlock and Robin broke their hug a moment later, the momentum from the spin dying out. They were both laughing, for slightly different reasons, but soon enough Robin was caught in another hug from John. This one was almost bone-crushing and briefer, as if to make sure she was okay before anything else and to ground the doctor in reality.

Stepping back from both of her friends, she grinned. They had found and captured Moran. They had stopped a terrorist plot. They had survived a BOMB! She was in control, she knew what was going on, and everyone was fine. She relished the moment, so glad that everything had worked out.

After a moment Robin did, however, notice how disgruntled John looked, versus Sherlock's wild energy.

"What happened?" she asked slowly and cautiously after a moment.

John and Sherlock looked at her and then to each other, silently fighting each other whether to tell her what had been said and what Sherlock had done. Eventually, however, John's dignity won out and he shook his head.

"You know how this idiot can be," began John, pointing beside him. Sherlock huffed in indignation but kept his mouth shut.

"Yeah, but-"

"It's just been a bit stressful, that's all," assured John, to Sherlock's almost visible relief. The detective really did not doubt Robin would make his life a living hell if she found out, and now John had something on him as well.

"No one harmed! Everyone is fine," confirmed Sherlock, grabbing Robin's hand suddenly and dragging her off back towards Lestrade.

"Alright, well, Mycroft's men are probably about to arrest Moran, so we should probably go,"

…

 **Author** **'** **s Note:**

:D Look at those adorable dorks. Look at what they did!

Robin's okay!

Oh, and I'm about to start Uni so I don't know what my schedule for updating will be like. Who knows...

Please comment, review,…etc. It's much appreciated.

Cheers,

Elleari


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